El Paso
by semul
Summary: AU. El Paso, where two strangers can become exes in the blink of an eye. Undercover CIA agent Rick Grimes and award-winning journalist Michonne Anthony agree to take down corruption thriving along the border. Amidst a fake marriage, can a reluctant partnership blossom into more?
1. Hotter Than the Hinges of Hell

Michonne pinched at her tank top stuck to her sweaty torso. The air-conditioned breeze caressed her overheated skin, sending goosebumps up her back. She bunched her dreadlocks off her slick neck, wishing she'd tied them up earlier.

To say it was hot outside would be an understatement. The scorching sun unforgivingly beat down on the busy city of El Paso. Gusts of hot air blasted into the shop with each swing of the heavy glass door, reminding its patrons of the torture that awaited them beyond the glass pane.

She worked up a serious sweat on the short, ten-minute walk from her hotel to the coffee shop. The hotel receptionist recommended it, saying it had the best coffee in town. _This better be worth it_ _,_ she thought, frowning at the slow moving line in front of her.

She sighed in reluctant acceptance, deciding to pass the time swiping through her recent texts. One from her boss, Carol, reminding her to pick up her ID information from the prearranged location and to give her an update on the article by the end of the week. Another from her mother, telling her to call her back. And one from the guy she'd gone out with last week. _Was it Morgan? Or Monroe?_ She made a face as she swiftly erased the last one.

Though he had been nice enough, there was something about him that bored her to tears. At one point during dinner, she swore she almost nodded off in the middle of one of his stories. Andrea would say she was just being picky. Michonne would say he reminded her of her father, even his age wasn't too far off.

She sighed disappointedly. Dating was difficult, to say the least. After being in a relationship for all of four years, finding a way to connect to somebody again felt nearly impossible. Things were different. People were different. She was different. Or maybe she was just full of shit and excuses, as her best friend would say.

Speaking of her best friend, no calls or messages. It must've been a busy morning at the office. She quickly sent off a text letting her know that she'd arrived before pocketing her phone and finally placing her order. She moved to the side to wait, taking in the quaint coffee shop in the meantime.

The small cafe was cute, in a small town sort of way. She was used to the noisy bustle of a New York City coffee shop with its endless whirring, yelling, and loud chatter in the background. Here, the people took their time, conversed quietly, and lounged around – their sluggishness most likely due to the heat outside. Living here for the next two months was going to take some adjusting.

Although, it appeared that she wasn't about to escape the ever-present leering of men.

She glanced at a table, catching the eyes of two of them who were openly gawking at her. She felt their eyes lasciviously drag over her body. Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she took her phone out again, hoping to have received a text back.

 _Nope_. She pursed her lips and checked the weather app, wanting a heads-up on the hellish weather expected for the rest of the week.

After a few moments of browsing, one of the two men stood up and ambled toward her. She noticed and quickly crossed her arm in front of her, angling her body away. Oblivious to her signals, he continued approaching her with a smug grin.

She sighed and lowered her phone. She wasn't in the mood to let him down easy so she opted for a rude shutdown, the kind that made a man rethink his life. She quirked her eyebrows up wearily and turned to him, readying herself.

It was then that somebody gently rested their hand on the small of her back. Startled, she looked down at the dusty, brown boots of the person standing next to her. Her gaze trailed up his worn black pants and dark plaid shirt until reaching the perpetrator's face. She knit her brow. _What in the hell..._ , she thought, trying to figure out what was happening.

The brazen man with curly, brown hair looked down at her with a kind smile. Stubble covered half his face and his skin was bronzed by the sun.

She barely had time to register his attractive features when he opened his mouth and swiftly put a damper on her observations.

"Hey sweetheart, I saved us a table over there. I wasn't sure if you saw me or not."

If his cowboy getup didn't give him away, his drawl certainly did. He was a local. Extremely local. And extremely oblivious as to what he'd just walked in to.

She looked at him in disbelief. "Excuse me?" she scoffed, baffled by his tone of familiarity.

His easy grin slightly faded as he watched the other man slink back to his table. He whispered close to her ear, sending shivers down her neck, "I think he got the message."

Her body tensed as she realized that a complete stranger – though fine as hell and smelling like he'd just stepped out of a fresh shower – had his unwelcome hands on her. Her instinct was to start throwing elbows and knees but she restrained herself. She didn't want to draw any more attention to herself. It certainly wouldn't help in the long run.

She clenched her teeth and hissed menacingly, "Don't touch me."

The stranger furrowed his brow and looked down at her to see if she was serious. When he realized how upset she was, he promptly removed his hand from her back. "I didn't mean to overstep my bounds. I just thought-"

"Well, you thought wrong," she bluntly interrupted, giving him a look.

He eyes gleamed at him like polished obsidian, sharp enough to cut to the core of his being and strong enough to destroy any attempt at justifying himself. She was rightfully upset but there was something else in that glare that threw him off kilter. It was a familiar glint he had only ever seen in a mirror.

Guilt bubbled in his stomach. He felt as if he'd just taken a glance at something not meant for him. He lowered his gaze to the ground and nodded.

"Fair enough." He peeked up at her. "Sorry 'bout that, Miss...?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, both out of annoyance and because she wasn't sure what her assigned cover story was yet. She couldn't risk giving him her actual name or making one up. What if she saw him again? It wasn't like she was hoping for it to happen but, just in case, she needed to keep her stories straight.

When she didn't respond, he held up his hand in resignation. "I get it. You don't have to answer that." He tilted his head in an effort to dispel the tension. "I'm Rick, by the way."

She remained silent.

"I just thought I was helpin'," he attempted to explain.

She crossed her arms. "I didn't ask for your help."

He raised his eyebrow skeptically, feeling obligated to provide her with his reasoning. "Didn't think it was necessary given those two men were eyeing you with ill-intent the second you walked in."

She tilted her head unconvinced by his logic. "And yet, you were the one who touched me without my consent," she retorted.

She was appreciative of him keeping an eye out but she had to shrug off a feeling of uneasiness. He admitted to watching her from the moment she arrived. It was one thing to step in but another to admit to doing some leering of his own.

Though this 'Rick' seemed normal enough, she couldn't give him any room for argument. Good intentions or not, he was a strange man who'd laid hands on her. That wasn't going to fly in anybody's book. Besides, why would he feel the need to watch her? _Who the hell was this guy?_

He bit his bottom lip and rested his hands on his hips. "You're right. That wasn't my intention." He looked up at her ruefully through his fair eyelashes.

She turned and remained silent, resisting from giving him the eye contact he was trying to draw. Now was not the time to be making acquaintances with rugged cowboys, especially ones as fine-looking as him. She feigned disinterest, hoping to deter him from going down a path she could not follow.

A look of understanding crossed his features, recognizing the effort she was putting into brushing him off.

"Alright then," he said, eyeing her carefully, "I'll just be on my way."

"You do that," she murmured and resumed scrolling through her phone.

He nodded knowingly at her dismissiveness. She wasn't interested, that much was certain, and he wasn't the kind to push a lady into something she wasn't interested in. He began walking past her but decided to stop. If he was being dismissed, he wanted to make certain he didn't forget his manners.

She glanced up at him, surprised he was still there. Then the look in his eye caught her full attention.

He gazed at her with the intensity of powerful ocean waves beneath a cloudless sky. They swiftly drew her away from solid ground and crashed against her resolve. She sharply inhaled as her eyes glanced down at his tempting, pink lips. They gleamed at her, inviting her to brush against them to test their softness, to taste their assured sweetness.

She could almost imagine herself gently, tugging the bottom one between her teeth as she plunged her fingers into his curls and… _what am I doing?_

She blinked back up at him incredulously. When did she start fantasizing about kissing strangers in broad daylight? Apparently, being single for over a year was starting to take its toll. She could only pray her thoughts didn't show on her face.

After thoroughly searching her eyes, he gave her one final nod as if satisfied by what he'd awakened. "You have yourself a nice day, ma'am," he murmured in a voice so smooth she had to take a steadying breath.

He grinned at himself as he turned and walked away. He'd never pursue a lady disinterested but he wasn't against using his manners to pique her interest. He'd leave the rest up to her.

Her eyes followed his bow-legged swagger out the door. She continued staring long after he was gone as if in a trance. Cowboy had game, she'd give him that. And if she was there under different circumstances she would have most certainly investigated just how far his game could go, but not today. Not now. She had a job to do.

She shook her head at her distractibility just as her order was called and her phone rang. When the familiar selfie of her blonde best friend graced the screen, she quickly answered, "Remind me again why I'm here?" She mouthed a thank you to the barista before taking her iced coffee and leaving a tip in the jar.

"Ah, let's see. You wanted to expose the truth behind allegations of corruption and make a significant impact on, and I quote, 'putting an end to cartels thriving along the border'. At least, that's what you said after half a bottle of vodka. Or, wait, hold on, was it because you wanted to escape summer tourist season in New York? Hey, you! Yeah you! Get the fuck out of the way!"

Michonne knit her brow at the sudden insult, as she made herself comfortable at an empty table. "What?"

"Not you. Just a dumbass who doesn't know how to use the goddamn sidewalk. Move it, asshole! Anyway, how's Texas, babe?"

She smirked at her friend's open irritation. "You're losing your touch if you can't already tell by my voice."

"Hey, low blow. I'm distracted here. Just give me a second. I'm standing in front of the office right now. Let me just...," Michonne could hear muffled noises as she imagined her best friend hastily making her way into the building. "Okay, wait, yeah, there we go, made it. Alright, okay, let me hear that gorgeous voice of yours."

She sighed tiredly, looking out the window at the visible waves of heat coming off the pavement, second guessing her decision to take on this assignment for the hundredth time. "It's hot, Andrea, too fucking hot. I thought our summers were hot but this; this is hell."

"Texas? Hot? You don't say."

She frowned. "I don't appreciate the sarcasm."

"You sound grumpy."

"Ugh, it's too hot to even think." She took a long sip of her cool drink. "Mmm, damn, this is good iced coffee."

"Oh, well, that explains it. You still haven't had your coffee. Wait, iced, really?"

"Have you been listening to anything I've said?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's hot, got it. So, have you single-handedly brought down the cartel and are on your way back to write the article of the century, winning you award after award and then eventually the Nobel Peace Prize, yet?"

Michonne snorted softly, appreciating her friend's teasing attempts to cheer her up. "There's so much wrong with what you just said. And, no, I haven't even taken a shower yet."

"Nobel Peace Prize winners don't take showers!"

"I'll call you back when you're less sober."

"No! Who am I going to relieve all this pent up sarcasm with?"

"You'll just have to reveal your true colors."

"These people aren't ready to feel my wrath...are you, Sasha? Are you?! Sasha says hi."

"Mercy to those who have to put up with you for the next two months."

"Aw, you know you love me."

"Probably too much."

Her friend's tone changed. "Listen, you be careful, baby girl. Don't do anything stupid."

"It almost sounds like you care, Dre," she replied flippantly, deflecting from acknowledging the fear that was beginning to settle in her stomach.

"I'm serious, Michonne. Do the job and come right back home."

"I'll be fine. And I'll be home soon with the article of the century to remind people that newspapers still exist."

"You and I both know you have a better chance at winning the peace prize."

She was right. Journalism had become a world of miscommunication and manipulation. She could only attempt to uphold her integrity and expose corruption amongst those sworn to lead and protect, awards and circulation numbers be damned.

Michonne sighed morosely at the thought of the enormous task that lied before her, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Alright, you hang up this phone and get to work. We're not paying you to socialize."

"You're not paying me anything."

"Oh, speak of the Carol, here she comes. I gotta go. I'll talk to you later, babe."

"Bye, Dre."

"Bye, Chonne."

She lowered the phone, staring at the screen as the call ended. The nerves she'd been avoiding were beginning to form a tight knot in the back of her throat. Reality sank in.

She was about to immerse herself into an unknown world, over a year after she had plunged into a world of corruption and witnessed heart-crushing evil. Granted, that time around, she'd traded ten months of her life for a Pulitzer Prize and a lifetime of nightmares. This time around, it was only for two months. The risk of adding more dimensions to her existing nightmares was slim to none. Besides, she wasn't planning on leaving the safety of the Sun City for longer than a few moments at a time.

Yet, the logic wasn't enough.

Her nostrils filled with a sickening stench of smoke and blood. Her stomach churned, the sharp, sour taste of bile slithered on the back of her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut.

The nightmares that plagued her dreams found their way into her daytime thoughts again. She clenched her teeth, her fingernails digging into her palms, and began the breathing exercises her therapist had taught her. _Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale._

She rolled her shoulders and neck, forcing herself to relax before a panic attack set in. She didn't have time to break down. She opened her eyes and stared at the glossy paper cup in front of her. She had a job to do. It was important. It made a difference.

She repeated the mantra in her head until she started to believe it was true. She just needed to keep her shit together long enough to see it through. She slowly squared her shoulders, summoning what was left of her confidence until a feeling of calm finally eased her nerves.

She could do this. She took a steadying breath. _I can do this._ She drank the rest of her coffee, conscientious of her breaths, and stood to leave.

With the cowboy a distant memory and the nightmares a conquered foe, she was prepared to take on whatever this assignment could throw at her. With each step, her confidence solidified and the prospect of facing another challenge empowered her. She pushed the glass door open, ready to face the heat.

* * *

 _ **Howdy!**_

 _ **So, what do you think so far? This is my first original, totally AU, multi-chapter story I've ever written. I'm a bit nervous about it but super excited to finally share it with you guys.**_

 _ **I have to admit, I've never been to Texas. All I know about the Lone Star state is what I dig up in my research and the information I get from interactions with family members who were from Texas. If there are any Texans reading and you feel like I'm getting something wrong, let me know. I do know I absolutely LOVE the quirky Texan sayings. They're so whimsical and perfect so I'm using them to title my chapters. Plus, I like to think it's a subtle nod to the late and great Abraham Ford. :)**_

 _ **I'd like to take a second to give a shout out to michonnesbooty on Tumblr. She graciously accepted to be my beta on this and did an absolutely lovely job! It's thanks to her I found enough confidence to share this with you. So thank you!**_

 _ **Anyway, I truly hope you enjoyed the first chapter to this story and I look forward to hearing from you! Thanks for reading!**_

 _ **Yours truly,**_

 _ **semul**_


	2. A Three-Jump Cowboy

_(mentions of the governor, drug cartels, and low-key darus/desus)_

* * *

 _"Evil in this world can no longer be personified by horns and a pitchfork. Within the realm of what we perceive to be our reality, evil has taken the form of ignorance, apathy to that which seems beyond our control. It is an invisible bind we are only too eager to claim as our shackle to excuse our inaction; a shackle even the most entrusted of government officials have dared to maintain…"_

Rick blinked at the Pulitzer Prize winning article in front of him. The words pulled him in and swirled around in his head.

This was her: Michonne Anthony, award-winning journalist and the woman he'd accosted earlier at the coffee shop. Her written words were passionate yet poignant, a reflection of the woman herself. Although, upon consideration, what he'd provoked in her earlier was more akin to indifference than passion.

He sat up in his desk chair at the thought of their awkward encounter, rubbing his palm against his sprouting stubble on his cheek. _I should've shaved this morning,_ he thought to himself, a meager attempt at putting her clear disinterest in him out of his mind. He narrowed his eyes at the superficial thought. Not that a clean-shaven face would have made things go smoother with her but it definitely wouldn't have hurt his chances. He shut his eyes and shook his head irritably. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn't about their awkward encounter. This was about scoping out a possible threat.

He opened his eyes and carefully scanned beyond the glass walls of his small office at the U.S. Customs and Border Protection headquarters. Luckily, no one else had picked up on his unexpected interest in the audacious journalist. His officers continued working at their desks, their attention far from what was on their supervisor's mind. Giving one last critical glance, he returned his attention to his phone and swiped at the glowing screen, intently studying the rest of her file, determined to learn as much as he could about this mysterious woman.

She was a talented, undercover journalist who'd dedicated her career to exposing corruption and crime among the rich and powerful. She had a history of battling government officials, business CEOs, and department leaders all on her own. She had spent years proving how truly powerful the pen could be.

But not all her battles were victorious.

Upon opening a document, the bolded words "Photographer Murdered in Cold-Blood" appeared on his phone screen. It was an article written months prior to her award-winning editorial. He scrolled down to a picture of her. A serene smile lit up her face. She looked happier, less haunted. She stood next to a guy, holding his arm tightly. The caption read ' _Michonne Anthony, New York Impression reporter, and former fiancé, Mike Harrison, New York Impression photographer, killed on assignment._ '

He knit his brow and continued scrolling. They'd been on assignment in Sierra Leone when the photographer was brutally murdered. The article briefly mentioned it had been investigated by the bureau.

Considering the bureau's notorious ability to hand off cases like this until they eventually got lost in the shuffle, he knew nothing significant was ever done about it. It explained why shortly thereafter she wrote her article shedding light on U.S. government ties to drug and diamond smuggling in Sierra Leone. It led to the resignation of a number of government officials and two U.S. senators, winning her several accolades and a Pulitzer Prize along the way.

He scraped his teeth against his bottom lip. So that was it; the look in her eye. Death could do that – take a piece of a person and replace it with a distinct blend of anger and doubt. It would eat away at a person, eroding away at their will to live. He'd seen it in fellow agents. He saw it every time he looked in a mirror. It was a heavy burden that rarely ever lost its weight.

Yet, regardless of her loss, she persevered. Instead of allowing herself to succumb to the temptation of despair, she exposed and pressured those that were responsible. She found hope – a possibility of justice – in the midst of a harrowing experience.

If what she'd achieved in her short thirty-two years of life were any indication, this incredible woman was an exceptional force to be reckoned with.

So why was she in El Paso?

His stomach twisted uneasily. Michonne Anthony didn't seem like the kind of reporter who traveled to an infamous border town for the sights. She was here for a reason, possibly one that could blow his cover.

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. As fascinating as she was, he couldn't afford having her on his trail. He couldn't fuck this up. He'd dedicated enough time serving his country and these long-term undercover jobs were starting taking their toll on him. This was his chance to finally get out of the field but if he didn't hold up his end of the deal, he'd be looking at another stint in god-knows-where.

He quickly deleted all his files on her, all the important bits safely stored in his mind. Maggie, his assigned analyst – or as he liked to call her his 'guardian angel' – had sent it to him after their brief coffee shop encounter. She'd put together dozens of articles and documents on this mysterious woman in a matter of minutes. He still found it unnerving how quickly she could pick up on his thoughts through grainy footage of surveillance cameras but she must've figured this woman had piqued his interest.

He glanced up again at his officers, the quiet hum of office sounds seeped in through his open door. He'd been posing as a supervising U.S. Border and Customs agent for the past ten months and his vigilance had paid off. Everyone was quick to believe the whole small-town-cop-turned-border-official story. Nobody suspected a CIA agent working amongst the ranks. He just needed to keep it that way.

His phone vibrated in his hand and dimly lit up with a message.

 **She's on assignment.**

The words disappeared as fast as they had appeared. Leave it to Maggie to follow up on his silent suspicions.

A somber cloud of worry passed over his features as a nagging feeling pulled at his gut. Confirming that the daring reporter was here for business not pleasure only added to his trepidation. He was rarely ever wrong when it came to his hunches.

If she was here to take him down, it put them on opposing sides. He'd have to put up a fight and he was certain it wouldn't end with them on good terms. He forced down an unexpected feeling of regret bubbling in his gut.

 **Details in progress. Now stop pouting and get back to work.**

He looked at the screen with a small smile. It scared him how well she could do that from a remote location in some basement the CIA kept secret hundreds of miles away. It made him question his stance on ESP.

 **You can thank me later old man.**

His eyes softened as he shook his head. Though he'd never met her, he had a soft spot for the smart kid who gave him a hard time.

"What's up?" His shaggy-haired partner, Daryl, leaned against the doorway, looking at him curiously.

Though they worked closely together, Rick had not revealed the truth to him and had no intention of letting him in on it. It's not that he didn't trust him. In fact, he was probably one of the few people in his life he genuinely trusted. It was a matter of maintaining his cover and protecting him. Plausible deniability would be key if it all went to shit.

He couldn't tell him he was texting with his assigned CIA analyst about a possible threat to his undercover assignment so he glanced up at him before shaking his head dismissively. "Ah, it's nothin'. Just...family." He turned off his phone and shoved it into his back pocket, mentally berating himself for drawing attention to himself.

"Huh, didn't know you had any."

Rick peered up at him carefully. It was true. He didn't share things about his personal life, not even to his partner. Any details he gave away could work against him later on. Again, plausible deniability. Not to mention, there was the fact that he didn't have much of a personal life to speak of.

An unfamiliar pang spread throughout his chest. He lowered his gaze and turned his attention to his keyboard, quickly changing the subject. Now wasn't the time to contemplate his lack of a social life. "So what did you find out about our truck?"

Picking up on his reluctance to share, Daryl quirked an eyebrow but dropped it. He stalked over to a chair and inelegantly plopped down with a grunt. He shrugged. "Turned out to be legit. It was just deliverin' a bunch of fruit. We raided it but didn't find anythin'."

Rick held back an exasperated roll of his eyes. It looked like the lead they'd been following for the past week fell through. Yet another in a list he'd racked up in the past few months and they all pointed to a single drug lord that went by the name 'the Governor'.

This last lead was supposed to finally link drug smuggling to a group that went by 'La Leña', a group that was rumored to be led by 'the Governor'. They'd planned it down to the smallest detail. This was going to be the operation that would help all the pieces fall into place but somehow they'd managed to elude them once again.

Rick stood from his chair and made his way to the other side of his desk, leaning against its edge as he rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "It's been eight months and we haven't been able to tie anything to 'em. We still don't know who this 'Governor' is and now I have the head of the department breathin' down my neck expectin' some sort of progress."

He sighed heavily. This had been one of the most frustrating assignments he'd ever taken on. It seemed like at every turn, they ran into a wall that would materialize out of nowhere. The group was careful but the probability of them eluding capture for this long was impossibly high. He lightly pinched at his bottom lip as he contemplated the situation.

He was back at square one. Only this time, his earlier suspicion was starting to take form. What was once just a series of unlucky coincidences, were turning into an oddly consistent pattern. Maybe this would be the key that would lead to definitive answers. He pushed off the desk and began pacing, once again thoughtfully rubbing his hand over his stubble.

Daryl eyed Rick carefully. He could see the wheels in his head turning. He rasped, "What?"

Rick paused and looked at him knowingly. There was only one way this group could be a step ahead of them every time they had a lead. He had shared his suspicions with his partner before.

"You still think it's a leak," Daryl surmised by his expression.

He shifted his stance and shrugged, his hands on his hips. "What else could it be?"

"I don't know, man. But it ain't gonna be easy to prove."

Rick nodded thoughtfully. At least he didn't disagree with his theory. Though, he was right. It wasn't going to be easy to prove that their department was involved somehow. It meant they'd be opening a dangerous can of worms. He had a short list of names he'd already gathered, names of which belonged to those that that could easily destroy his career with a simple phone call. Or – if his suspicions proved to be true – names of those who could easily arrange a believable death at the hands of the cartels they aided.

A knock at the opened glass door startled the two men. They looked up and saw the young rookie that went by Jesus beam at them. He held up his hand as both a greeting and to excuse his intrusion.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt but there's a lady in the lobby asking for the person in charge." He pointed in its general direction with his thumbs as he informed them with a smile.

Daryl narrowed his eyes in annoyance and gruffly asked, "Who is it?"

Rick held back a smirk. He found it particularly entertaining how his partner interacted with the cheerful, young rookie standing before them. It was like watching an amusing classic cartoon where the bright-eyed optimist eagerly trailed after the incurable grump. He crossed his arms, holding back his glee as he witnessed their interaction.

The young rookie shrugged unthinkingly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "I didn't get a chance to ask," he replied, inspiring the shaggy haired man to roll his eyes in detestation. Sensing Daryl's annoyance, he froze in realization. "Wait…should I go ask?"

Rick winced at the young officer's painfully trusting nature. This kid's obliviousness wasn't going to win him any favors here, especially from his resentful partner. Nonetheless, he wasn't in the mood to observe this incurable optimist's imminent rejection. He'd witnessed enough of that for one day. He waved his hand dismissively. "I got it."

"You sure? I can go–"

He held up his hand again and gave him a reassuring shake of his head. "Don't worry about it. I got it."

Jesus sighed gratefully, "Thanks, Rick." He turned to Daryl but the irritated grump had stood from his chair and shoved past him before he could direct another word to him.

"Looks like I didn't score any brownie points with that move," he mused almost sadly, his eyes following Daryl's retreating form.

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry about it too much. I don't think he's keepin' score," he reassured him as he followed the young rookie out the door.

On their walk to the lobby, Rick continued mulling over his next move. He would need to start investigating his list of suspects. He'd need Maggie's help with backgrounds, Daryl's help with keeping track of anything suspicious in the department, and possibly some sort of decoy to keep the attention off of him. He'd need to be resourceful with the latter; he didn't want to get too many people involved. Too many people increased the odds of the wrong people finding out. For now, he just needed to deal with one crisis at a time, starting with the supposed lady asking for the person in charge.

He just hoped it wasn't another disgruntled elderly lady attempting to get her neighbors deported. More often than not people treated this place like a suggestion box at an all-you-can-eat buffet; vocally dissatisfied by the fact that their every petty – mostly racist – whim wasn't being met. When did protecting the country's border turn into customer service for the intolerant and prejudiced?

Although, his irritation quickly subsided as he realized who was waiting for him. His gait slowed as he blinked in surprise.

She was a vision to behold in a tailored, expensive-looking black jacket, tight skirt, and high heels. Her dreadlocks were swept back from her radiant face but her gaze was locked on the screen of her phone.

His heart beat faster as he took in her stunning transformation from disgruntled coffee shop stranger to professional journalist who'd earned his complete respect and captured his full attention within the span of a couple hours. To say he was in awe would be an understatement.

He swallowed thickly as he approached the woman who would soon change his life.

* * *

 ** _Yeaaah, sorry about the long wait!_**

 ** _I mean with all the Richonne goodness going on in the show, I kinda got distracted. :)_**

 ** _I hope you enjoyed this chapter; it was more of an intro to Rick than anything. I'm currently revising the next chapter where we will get another Richonne interaction. Cross our fingers, that should be up soon!_**

 ** _Special thanks to my beta, michonnesbooty on Tumblr. She kicked my butt into gear and I am ever so grateful. Thanks!_**

 ** _Anyway, thank you sooooo much for all your support and reviews! All the love and interest has certainly helped boost my creativity! Can't wait to hear from you again!_**

 ** _Your slow-writing Richonner,_**

 ** _semul_**


	3. We've Howdied But We Ain't Shook

The instant Michonne looked up from her phone and recognized that cursed bow-legged swagger, her stomach dropped down to her toes.

It was him. Again.

Only this time, he wore a freshly-pressed, dark uniform; dressed as a full-fledged officer of the law. His short hair was combed back yet his soft, brown curls adorned the base of his neck, still tempting her to run her fingers through them. He looked intimidating, commanding, far more imposing than the simple rancher she'd dismissed him as earlier. She internally winced at the recollection.

She had been blunt back at the coffee shop, maybe even a little rude - a word she was certain her mother would use to describe it. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach.

"Shit," she breathed faintly, hoping she didn't look as off guard as she felt. Leave it up to her to burn her bridges before she even realized there was a bridge. She could only hope that this Rick character wasn't the kind to hold grudges.

The hippie officer from earlier approached her with a smile, the smirking cowboy's presence looming behind him. "Hey, I'm sorry I didn't get your name earlier, Miss…?"

"Harrison. Michelle Harrison," she replied uneasily, nervously glancing at the man behind him.

He shook tendrils of hair off his face and rolled his eyes in a self-deprecating manner. "Right, Miss Harrison. I'm Paul, by the way. And this here is my commanding officer, Rick Grimes." He presented him with the gentle turn of his head.

She curtly nodded at the man behind him doing her best not to turn around and sprint her foolish ass out of the building.

The young officer smiled obliviously. "I'll just let you two hash it out but if you guys need me, I'll be at my post."

"Yes, of course, thank you," she replied, her voice strained by her sudden bout of nerves.

Ignorant, or perhaps indifferent, of the strange vibes she was giving off, he gave her a polite nod and walked away.

She deeply inhaled as she prepared herself for the inevitable. This was either going to go terribly wrong or spectacularly awkward. There was no other way around it. But then she quietly looked up at him with wide, searching eyes, and realized he didn't seem that upset. In fact, he almost seemed...curiously surprised. The stress in her shoulders slightly dissipated as she awaited the rest of his reaction.

A smile slowly lit up Rick's face. He couldn't help it. It was too good to be true. He let out a soft chuckle as he placed his hands on his hips and looked down.

Michonne Anthony, the woman he couldn't put out of his mind, the reporter he thought he'd have to track down, was standing in front him, patiently awaiting his reaction. He tempered a sudden fluttering in his chest and peered up at her. She was here, by her own volition, as if fate had finally decided to give him a break.

"How 'bout that?" he mused.

Something his father used to say about the law of averages came to mind. Though, he couldn't remember the exact quote because his thoughts were currently preoccupied with processing the woman in front of him. However, if the conversation didn't pick up soon, his brain would start assigning that job to its second in command.

Picking up on his knowing look, the heat of a slow-growing embarrassment finally hit her. _God, why?_ Of all the places in the world, why did this man have to work here? Then again, it could be worse. At least he was smiling at her, as if what she'd done earlier to him hadn't affected him in the least. Actually, judging by the smirk on his face, he rather enjoyed watching her squirm.

She quickly blinked away her unease as she plastered a tight and guarded smile on her face. "So…you work here?"

A gentle grin tugged at the sides of his mouth. It couldn't be any more obvious how much she wished he didn't. "Rick Grimes, U.S Customs and Border Protection Special Ops Supervisor and currently filling in for our chief and deputy chief."

She searched his eyes, trying in vain to find a hint of a lie, anything to reassure her that what he'd said wasn't true. Nothing. She attempted to hide her disappointment as the truth sunk in.

She defeatedly sighed and nodded. This wouldn't derail her. She squared her shoulders and smiled brightly. If she had to put on a show, so be it. She outstretched her hand. "Michelle Harrison, representative for the Allies Against Trafficking Foundation."

Rick blinked at her as he took her hand and gave it a slow shake, attempting to hide a grin. She was lying. It impressed him how well she'd set up her cover. Yes, this woman was dangerous but her charm was deadlier. He knew if he hadn't looked into her, he would've unquestionably bought whatever she was selling.

She continued with an apologetic smile as she released his hand, "I should apologize for our meeting earlier today. I was...," she swallowed back the sour taste of pride, continuing with her apology with a slight clearing of her throat, "...rude. There was no excuse for that but I just arrived and it kind of takes a second to adjust to the climate, you know?" She nervously chuckled, praying for this moment to be over quickly.

"Yeah," he drawled, "it can take some gettin' use to." His eyes never left hers, sending a shiver down her back.

She licked her lips, doing her best to choke down what was left of her pride. "I just hope you can forgive my... _brash_ attitude toward your... _help_ earlier."

Interestingly enough, the fact that she was trying to smooth things over with false humility did nothing to temper his curiosity. How far would she be willing to go to get what she wanted? This was his chance to witness her prowess first-hand. Excitement slithered throughout his body. He hadn't felt this kind of anticipation in years. He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, trying not to appear too delighted by the prospect.

"Course. My pleasure," he replied, accepting her forced apology.

When she remained quiet, he turned his head slightly, trying to get a feel for what she was expecting from him. It appeared that if he was going to get anywhere with her, he'd need to be the first to bend. "So, uh, I'm guessin' you aren't here just to apologize," he teased, "So what can I help you with, Ms. Harrison?"

Ignoring his jab, she continued, hoping to quickly get access to her person of interest without raising suspicions. "Actually, I was hoping to speak with Chief Phillip Blake. I assumed he was the person in charge here," she explained, quickly adding to settle any suspicions of stalking, "I didn't realize you worked here."

Rick's smile slightly faded. She was already too close to the fire with just one name. This was going exactly the way he'd feared. Hiding the sudden jolt of panic coursing through his veins, he calmly replied, "Chief Blake and the deputy chief are makin' their rounds at the other stations in the sector. They won't be back for a while."

She nodded in understanding, quickly realizing that their chance encounter coincided with her bad timing. Had she accepted this assignment earlier, none of this would have conspired. How is it that fate always managed to screw her over? She tightened her jaw. No, not this time. She'd get what she'd come for, fuck fate.

"What's this regarding?" He narrowed his eyes at her sudden change in demeanor. She seemed almost hostile but it quickly melted away.

She took a deep breath readying herself for the selling pitch she'd come to detest. "Well, we've heard about the great work he's doing down here to put an end to human trafficking and we were hoping he'd be willing to represent our organization and do a profile piece for our next monthly newsletter."

He took a moment to swallow the lie she'd fed him. It was a good one. "Profile piece?"

She smiled brighter, confident that she was making headway. "It's an opportunity for our donors to recognize the accomplishments of everyday local heroes making a difference at an international scale."

He nodded slowly. She'd crafted this cover with such impressive precision. It sounded so believable, he even questioned its validity but then she took it an unnecessary step further.

"He's changed people's lives, Officer Grimes. The American people deserve to know that ordinary citizens like him can make a difference, a big difference. Mr. Blake is a true American hero," she said in such an excessively fawning manner that unintentional sarcasm threaded between her words, unraveling her lie.

He bit his bottom lip to hold back a snort of laughter. The pandering didn't suit her – he could tell she thought it was all bullshit. She wanted to get close to Blake and she was willing to say whatever was necessary to get an in. It almost made him feel bad about shutting her assignment down. Almost. He gave her a doubtful look.

Her smile faded as she realized she was kissing the wrong ass. This Rick Grimes guy wasn't buying it and he didn't even have the decency to pretend he did. Instead, he looked almost disappointed as if she'd let him down in some way. She furrowed her brow, trying to ascertain what had disillusioned him but he'd quickly returned to officer mode before she had a chance to figure it out.

"Well, you just missed him. But I'll let him know you stopped by Miss Michelle Harrison from the Allies Against Trafficking Foundation," he repeated in an almost taunting manner.

She narrowed her eyes, anger beginning to form a tight knot in her throat. She was no stranger to rejection but this guy was enjoying it too much. He knew something she didn't. She slowly exhaled. Now was not the time to lose her shit. She'd get what she came for, with or without his help.

She smiled tightly. "No need. I can wait."

His eyes widened in surprise. He knew she was dedicated but not to the point where she'd subject herself to setting up shop in their lobby. He knew eventually somebody would buy her story and she'd get her in. He couldn't allow that to happen.

"You'll be waitin' a while. His next opening isn't for a few weeks," he warned, attempting to ward her off with inconvenience.

She frowned, growing impatient with his evading. "Are you his assistant?"

"No."

"Then clearly I'm wasting yours and my time talking to you, Officer Grimes. May I please speak with someone better equipped to help me?"

And there it was, her first attempt at chipping away at the barrier he'd set in front of her. She was fast and, if her reputation was an indicator of anything, she was good. He attempted to distract her again, feigning offense and breaking out the eyelash flutter. "You don't think I'm equipped enough to help you, Miss Harrison?"

She could see their conversation leading to one of two places. Either he would push her into insulting him, giving him good reason to ban her from these offices, or he would ingratiate her with some flirtatious banter that would inflate his ego beyond its current giant state. Fortunately, she knew better than to continue down either of those paths. Instead, she chose blunt honesty.

"I don't appreciate the run around, Officer, but I am a patient woman. I'll wait as long as it takes." She eyed him steadily, daring him to oppose her again.

He recognized the ambition in her eyes. She was here to get the job done. Nothing he could say or do would change her mind, at least not with all these pretenses she was hiding behind. He thoughtfully gazed at her. It wouldn't hurt to try and talk her out of it, convince her to back off on her own. Maybe if he scared her off enough, she'd drop it and move on. A voice in the back of his head snorted disbelievingly. Something told him it wouldn't be that easy. Ignoring his clearly unsupportive conscious, he nodded at his decision.

Tilting his head, he signaled behind him. "Alright then, come on back."

She looked at him distrustfully. She didn't know what he was trying to do but any kind of an in was better than none. She reluctantly followed him.

He took her through a maze of desks and hallways until they reached a small back room. It looked like an interrogation room with a couple of chairs, a small table in the corner, four white walls, and no cameras. He showed her in and closed the door behind him.

"Please, have a seat."

She pulled out a chair and sat, eyeing him warily. She knew she wasn't going to get anywhere near Blake today. Nevertheless, she was intrigued. He'd brought her back here for a reason, one that she concluded involved something he didn't want anybody else to know about.

A nagging feeling in her gut warned her to keep her guard up. She knew if he tried anything, she'd take him down easily but if this was about threatening her into submission, she'd need proof of it. Thankfully, she'd set up her hidden recording device before she'd walked into the building. Anything he said or did would be recorded and released, if necessary. She crossed her arms and legs in preparation.

"I'm assuming you weren't serious about helping." She looked up at him knowingly.

He crossed his arms and stared at her stoically, giving no hint of emotion. It was time to shut this down. As much as he wished they'd met in different circumstances, this was the hand they were dealt. He couldn't allow her to go any further.

She steadily gazed back at him, refusing to be intimidated.

Finally, his lip twitched. "Why are you here?"

Her heart skipped in surprise. _He's only suspicious_ , she reassured herself, _nothing to panic about._ She kept a cool calm on the exterior as she raised her eyebrow challengingly. "I already told you."

He nodded silently as he sat in the chair near her, scooting forward until their shoes almost touched. He leaned forward and she stiffened uneasily. Having him this close made her nervous, for more reasons than one.

He lowered his voice. "See, that? That right there's a lie. You gave me your cover, not the truth. So, why are you here?"

She swallowed, indignant yet panicked by this man's piercing gaze. He knew. She could feel her story unravel with each moment she sat there but she managed to muster a look of genuine confusion. She couldn't let this slip from her fingers before she had a chance to even start.

She calmly repeated, "I'm Michelle Harrison, representing–"

"No. You're not."

Her eyelashes fluttered at his swift interruption. This was the first time she'd ever been called out so quickly. Her mouth slightly parted. He'd already made up his mind about her. She could tell it was over. There was no point in trying to convince him. She'd had enough experience under her belt to know that he wasn't about to give into her protests or flattery.

His gaze intensified, his tone softer and more menacing, as he sat on the edge of his chair, his face mere inches from hers. "Why are you here?" His eyes searched hers.

She nearly stopped breathing as she held his mesmerizing blue gaze. It burned into her, scorching any reasoning she could offer. He'd only accept the truth and she wasn't about to willingly share that with him.

She squinted at him challengingly. "I'd back off if I were you, Officer Grimes."

A dangerous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Or what?"

She huffed quietly. She'd been in the same room with this man for less than five minutes and he'd already managed to get under her skin. She hadn't felt this flustered since her early teenage years. She wasn't sure if she should knock him out or kiss him. The longer he stared, the more rattled she became. She broke off eye contact with an eye roll.

"I don't need to stick around and be interrogated by the likes of you," she murmured, scooting her chair back. "I did nothing wrong. Now, if it's alright with you, I'm leaving." She made a move to stand.

He reached out to lay his hand on her wrist. "No. You're not." His eyes burned into hers, daring her to push him to use his final move.

She blinked down at his offending hand. What was up with this guy and touching her? He'd only rested his hand on her, not gripping or being forceful but he may as well have been. He was an officer of the law but it gave him no right to take her to a secluded room and touch her. She glared at him, snatching her hand away brusquely.

"I don't have time for this," she muttered as she hurriedly grabbed her things, ready to sprint out of that room and away from him. This had escalated beyond what she'd thought. She'd lost control of the situation.

He was playing bad cop in the hopes of intimidating her into submission. She'd seen it before. He had nothing on her but was desperate to make himself feel useful. She wasn't going to play his game; playing his game would only expose her vulnerabilities. She stood up to leave.

She was already calculating her next move when the words that came out of his mouth made her blood run cold.

"I suggest you make time, _Michonne Anthony_."

* * *

 _ **Hola!**_

 ** _Wow! Thank you sooo much for all the love and support on the last chapter! You are such kind and beautiful souls! xoxoxo_**

 ** _So what'd you think of the chapter? Kind of left it on a cliffhanger, right? What do you think should happen next? What do you hope will happen next? Personally, I'm hoping for more Richonne. :)_**

 ** _As always, thank you to michonnesbooty on Tumblr for being the best, most supportive beta! Muah!_**

 ** _Hope to hear from you soon!_**

 ** _Your still blown away with the Season 7 finale writer,_**

 ** _semul_**


	4. Watch Out or You'll Plow Up Snakes

Michonne froze. He knew. _How?_ Her cover was airtight. Nobody else except for Andrea, Carol, and Glenn, the guy who set up her cover, knew about the details of her assignment.

She swallowed thickly before releasing the door handle. A million possibilities rushed through her mind. He knew her real name. He knew she didn't represent a foundation. What else did he know?

Her shallow breaths and pounding heart betrayed the calm exterior she wore as she witnessed her entire assignment crumbling before her eyes. It was enough to provoke a tremor of anger and fear to rush throughout her body. All the months of work she'd dedicated to painstakingly gather information and prepare herself for this was now in the hands of a man who couldn't fathom how essential this was to putting the pieces of her life back together.

Clenching her trembling fists, she silently returned to her chair. There was no point in running away, no point in denying it. He knew what he knew and she was at his mercy. She would face the inevitable and do her best to prevent everything from turning into complete shit.

Quietly setting her things down, she stiffly took her seat. Raising her furious eyes to his, she braced herself for the expected scorn to distort his features but she immediately squinted in suspicion. He wasn't scornful. There wasn't even a hint of malice in his eyes. Instead, amusement sparkled in them as if they were playing a board game and he'd just made a winning move.

It was all she could do to keep her fist from connecting with his defined jaw. He thought it was a game, just another chance for him to flex his authority. It was infuriating. She hadn't known him for more than a total of ten minutes and he'd already managed to both aggravate and provoke a sense of self-doubt in her not even the toughest of assignments had ever done. Regrets of ever visiting that damned coffee shop lodged themselves in her mind.

She released her clenched fists in her lap. _No_ , she decided determinedly. She'd worked too damn hard for this assignment to end now. He thought he had the upper hand, that he was capable of intimidating her. _Absolutely not._ He did not get to play his games and destroy the months of work she'd dedicated to this already. Instead, he was about to suffer her own personal brand of skillful shut down. She would give him just enough to satisfy his curiosity, no sweat off her back. Then she would enlist the skills she learned in criminal profiling and revert to her 'Sherlock mode' – as Andrea would endearingly call it – to figure out exactly who this smug bastard was and drive him to regret ever opening his mouth.

They stared at each other silently, an undercurrent of distrust thickening the tension between them. "How do you know that name?" She scowled at him expectantly.

He simply stared at her for a moment as if pondering the possibility of revealing his sources before deciding to passively shrug.

Anger boiled inside her. He was playing with her. She wouldn't stand for it. She snapped, "What do you want?"

The harsh tone of her demand told him he'd hit a nerve. It was difficult to hold back his glee but he reigned it in. He didn't want her too angry. Anger made people dangerous. "The truth." He gazed at her challengingly, wondering how long it would take for her to give in.

She considered his request for a moment, repaying him with the same feigned deliberation he'd shown her, before sardonically replying, "I can't give you that." If he wanted the truth he'd have to pry it out of her. Wordlessly, she dared him to ask again.

He fought back a grin at seeing her resolve. She wasn't going to make this easy on him. _Good_ , he thought. At least this way he knew how important this was to her. He studied, carefully strategizing his next move. This could go one of two ways. Either he would piss her off enough to motivate her to leave on her own or he would have to intimidate her into submission. Judging by her willpower and ability to keep her temper under control, subtle coercion seemed like the most logical option.

"Alright." He leaned in again, compelling her to merely tilt her head challengingly. "I'll tell you who you are then."

She stared at him unimpressed as she awaited him to reveal more about himself through his boasting.

"You're Michonne Anthony, reporter for the New York Impression. Graduated top of your class in 2007. You've been a journalist for the past eight years and your piece on Sierra Leone won you the Pulitzer." He paused at her guarded reaction, hoping to get her to back down but not wanting to dredge up memories that would put her even more at odds with him. "You went in deep to get that story. And by the looks of it, you're tryin' to do the same thing here."

His simple summation caught her off guard. Though, she did her best to show no sign of the jarring feelings that had knocked the wind from her lungs. He'd just given her the rundown of the past decade of her life in less than thirty seconds. It was brief, deceivingly simple, yet, fraught with a crippling pain only known to her. It was a past filled with days of depressive self-loathing and nights haunted by the nightmares that tormented her grief-stricken mind.

After spending the past year exploring the intricate levels of cruelty life could offer, she'd finally found hope. She was starting to see the end of the interminable tunnel of survivor's guilt. This assignment was supposed to be her official return to the land of the living. Now, the only thing standing in her way was this delusional man who'd so accurately hit his mark with his carefully chosen words.

A ripple of anxiety spread throughout her tense body. Though he wasn't wrong and probably knew more about her than what he was letting on, she wasn't about to say anything to confirm any of his assertions.

Instead, she chose to study him carefully as she mindfully detached herself from the emotional turmoil that was threatening to drown out all sense. The next few moments would be vital if she expected to make it out of that room in one piece. She focused her thinking.

 _All that information had to have a source_. She slightly pursed her lips as she ran down a list of details she'd picked up from the moment they'd met. She mentally reviewed every word he'd spoken and how he'd said it. She thought about his position and what kind of work it required. He didn't seem like the type to scour the internet for hours trying to find information on a stranger he briefly met in a coffee shop. _No, this required help_ , she concluded. This smelled of analysis, data collecting, things that she was sure he didn't have time to do on his own.

He searched her shifting eyes, unaware of the thoughts whirring and clicking in her mind. He assumed her silence said enough. By revealing nothing, she may as well have confirmed everything he'd thrown at her. He'd have to thank Maggie for looking out. If he would've gone into this blind, Michonne Anthony would have slipped under his radar. Thankfully, he'd caught her just in time.

He smirked at her lack of response. "I take it I'm not too far off?"

Her jaw ticked in irritation but she remained mysteriously silent.

He sniffed dismissively. _No matter,_ she could be as reticent as she wanted. He had easily hit his mark. Maybe he had overestimated her. She didn't even try to defend herself. He shook his head, disappointed by her inability to even dispute his claims.

If it was up to him, he would've liked for things to have gone differently. He would have liked to get to know her, maybe invite her to coffee to discuss some of her insightful articles. Although now that he'd witnessed her much-to-be-desired debating skills, he'd probably ask her about that but he didn't have time to dwell on it. He needed to ensure she stayed as far away from his mission as possible.

"Alright, this is what you're gonna do." He stared her down steadily. "You're gonna get your things, go home, and forget any of this ever happened. Whatever you thought you could pursue here is gone."

She probed his gaze as if to gauge how serious he was before quietly sighing dejectedly in what he assumed to be surrender. Relief flooded his insides but it was quickly thwarted by a feeling of disappointment. It suddenly dawned on him that she'd leave and his mundane life would continue.

The short-lived distraction she'd provided had awoken the dormant need to seek out the ever elusive fulfillment he hoped this final mission would provide him. Why he associated a life's fulfillment with the presence – or rather the absence – of a random journalist was beyond him. He shook his head, ridding himself of the disconcerting thoughts, and stood from his chair.

"Come on, I'll show you out," he said ready to dismiss her and get back to work, unaware of the gleam in said journalist's eyes.

She carefully reached into her bag and shut off her recorder, preparing herself for the next words she was about to speak.

"So you work for the government then?"

Her abrupt question hung in the air like a poised guillotine. This time, it was his turn to freeze.

"Which agency is it? Or are you working for the bureau?"

He swore he could hear the whoosh of air as the metaphorical blade sliced through its intended mark. His breath hitched as his eyes snapped up at the closed door in front of him. It took a moment to fully process her words. He blinked, hoping she hadn't said what he thought she said. Panic pricked at his chest.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head, taking a literal and metaphorical step back. "What?"

"I mean you said it all. I've done this before. Or to put it in terms you'll understand, officer, this ain't my first rodeo."

She side-glanced him, doing her best to contain her relief at deducing him correctly. For a second, it honestly felt like she was grasping at straws but his confidence and suggestion of forgetting about the whole ordeal had left her with two options: either he was directly connected with the corruption or was investigating the corruption. His lack of anger and use of a stern tone rather than a threatening one led her to believe he wasn't on the corrupted side. Grateful her skills of deduction had come through, she settled into her new position of power. It was his turn to make a move.

Rick rubbed his tongue against his teeth. She'd led him into a perfect trap. He was screwed and she knew it. So why did his heart just skip a beat in hope? He shrugged off the feeling. This was far from good news. He turned around, resting his hands on his hips, and steadily gazed at her, awaiting her next move.

Sensing his hesitation, she tilted her head back and smiled sweetly up at him. "Who do you think was the first to intervene on my past assignments, Officer Grimes? It certainly wasn't a harmless, local official."

He scoffed and gave her a dangerous look. She brazenly returned the look.

He knew there was no point in denying it but he wouldn't give into her quite so easily. He still had the ability to make her disappear. He needed to remind her of that. "Local official or not, if I were you, I'd be careful about what I said next."

She looked at him in surprise. "Careful? Seems like that's something you and your agency had the arrogance to ignore, especially with such a nosy reporter in their midst."

He couldn't believe how quickly the tables had turned. She had him believing he was two steps ahead. In reality, she'd merely provided the shovel in which he was using to bury himself. He'd dug the hole and now he couldn't escape it without calling attention to himself. He was entirely on his own. No cameras. No Maggie. No mind-reading text messages. He'd placed himself at this disadvantage by taking her to a secluded room and doing all the talking. Her insinuations made him question if she didn't already know his identity. Even if he wanted to make her disappear, she was too well known for it to be believable. If he continued down this road, he would have to ensure that he didn't reveal more that she could use against him.

He sniffed, walking back in front of her, preparing himself for whatever manipulation tactic she decided to utilize. "What're you tryin' to say?"

She raised her hands in feigned innocence. "Absolutely nothing. I would never interfere with an ongoing government operation. Nor would I expose the identities of any operatives involved in a departmental takedown. I am, after all, an American journalist entrusted to uphold the integrity of such institutions." She shrugged. "But then again, I'm sure people would love to read about local border official, Rick Grimes, who saved a damsel in distress at a local coffee shop. Complete with enlarged photo of said hero, of course."

He stared at her impassively, her sarcasm revealing her winning hand. She knew. Or at least she knew enough and she had him right where she wanted him. She could easily blow his cover with a simple fluff article and a black and white photo. He was completely at her mercy. _How the hell did things get turned around so quickly?_

Though, she'd inaccurately assumed it was a departmental takedown rather than the departmental cleanse that it actually was, he wasn't about to correct her. She had enough ammunition to hold him hostage for as long as she wanted.

His fingers twitched nervously as he sat down. Though he sensed his impending loss, he refused to surrender easily. "What do you want?"

She thoughtfully regarded him, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. She knew she could literally ask for anything but she needed to test the waters first. "What'll you give me?"

He snorted in disbelief. He couldn't believe he'd underestimated her, even for a brief moment. She was everything he'd imagined. Which was why he couldn't help it if his eyes wandered down to appreciate the full package of woman sitting before him.

He licked his lips, quickly looking away. He shifted in his seat, finding his composure, and repeated. "What do you want?"

She studied him carefully, not wanting to pass up this opportunity to get what she needed. "Full access."

He eyed her skeptically. She observed him intently.

He truly couldn't believe her audacity. He'd thought he had the upper hand. He thought he was going to come out scot-free. Now, here he was, trying to negotiate with one of the most resourceful journalists he'd ever met. He'd really screwed himself over but he wasn't about to reveal that to her. He simply put on a doubtful look as he tried to find a way out.

Curious to know what she wanted for her silence, he further asked, "And what would that entail, Ms. Anthony?"

It was a long-shot but if he already knew who she was and why she was there, honesty was the only road that might get her the access she needed. She needed to appeal to his compassionate side, a side she knew he hid well, otherwise she wouldn't still be sitting there attempting to hold a civil negotiation with an undercover agent.

She took a deep breath. "I want to know the comings and goings of your chief, Phillip Blake." She searched his eyes, measuring her steps as she dipped in further. "He has a questionable history which might be the cause behind an uptick in illegal trafficking and missing persons along the border, specifically between El Paso and Juarez. His downfall could set into motion the revealing of dozens of U.S. government officials who've had a hand in or benefitted by these crimes."

She paused, observing his neutral facial expression. She couldn't tell if she'd convinced him or not. She made one last attempt to get through to him. "Listen, I honestly don't know why you're here, Officer Grimes, nor do I really care. But what I do know is that I need to believe that this government isn't stupid enough to let something like this ruin their overall interests with Mexico. When people go missing –parents, spouses, and children – and certain individuals start getting richer and more powerful because of it, it starts to attract unwanted attention. Unwanted attention is the last thing they need."

Rick stared at her as her words sunk in. She wasn't after him. Her focus was entirely on holding those who were responsible for inflicting cruelty on defenseless people accountable for their corrupt actions. Her idealism was perplexing yet dangerous. Though, her theory could prove useful.

"I'm here to try," she continued, "That's it. I know I can't change the world. I'm not here to change decades, centuries of injustices, but I have enough power to say something. People need to know what's going on here."

She seemed so adamant, so passionate, yet, there was a desperation there that he didn't quite understand. This wasn't her battle to fight. She had no personal connection to any of these missing people or to these drug-trafficking cartels, not that he knew of anyway. Before he could stop himself, his burning question passed his lips. "Why?"

She sharply inhaled. She'd become so caught up in her own words, she'd forgotten why she was actually there. The fear and anxiety that had plagued her earlier in the coffee shop was nowhere to be seen. The trauma that had kept her frozen for the past year had finally taken a backseat. She was back in her element and she hadn't even realized it. There was no way she was going to give this up without seeing it through.

She simply told him the truth. "I need this."

There it was; the truth. Three words that he wouldn't have found even if he'd spent hours scouring every miniscule piece of information on her. Yet, it was completely obvious. She did need this. After what she'd endured, she needed a way to find herself again. He understood that. Unfortunately, he was only a further impediment to achieving her goal and she wasn't about to let that stop her.

He considered what he needed to do. She wanted in but he needed to keep her under control. He needed something that would get her what she needed yet kept her from ruining nearly a year's worth of work. But how? He needed more time to find a solution that wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass so he stalled.

"Say I help you. Where does that leave me? If I'm workin' for an agency, I have a job to do, too."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Maybe if you were more forthcoming with the details of what you're doing here, it would make this easier."

His lips twitched with a smile. "You think I'm goin' to trust you with that?"

She shrugged dispassionately. "Well, you've put me in a compromising position. I don't have any wiggle room to do much of anything."

An image of her wiggling distracted him momentarily. He inhaled deeply, banishing the thought from his mind. "So you expect me to put myself in the same position?"

She shook her head. "I don't expect anything from you. I just want to get my job done."

He studied her for a moment, before the question that had been burning in his mind fell from his tongue. "Why now? Like you said, this has been goin' on for decades, centuries. What's so important about doin' this now and not a few months down the road?"

 _So he was here for a few months?_ She filed away that piece of information as she considered his question. She had a passing urge to tell him everything but, until he gave her something to work with, she'd evade answering his questions with any more details. She simply stated, "There's no time like the present."

He recognized her tactic. He wasn't reciprocating so she was done giving him anymore details. What she'd said was enough. He wanted to help her but he needed to keep his eye on her. _Maybe_ …he smiled mischievously; maybe he could both keep her close and motivate her to cut her visit short.

He nodded decisively after thoroughly thinking it through. "Fine, I think I know how we can get you what you need without interfering."

"What do you suggest?" She stared at him patiently.

He gazed at her confidently. There was only one thing that could break a determined reporter, only one thing that could drive the talented Michonne Anthony out of his town. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Me."

* * *

 ** _Hi everyone!_**

 ** _Apologies for not updating sooner, these chapters have really kicked my butt! Insecurities and wanting to make sure I gave you guys my best really had me holding back. Sorry about that. But a few shots of tequila later, I think I'm ready to share this with you. :P_**

 ** _I've already finished the next chapter, just need to revise and edit (thanks to my wonderful beta, michonnesbooty on Tumblr)!_**

 ** _Thank you for all the support so far! I can't tell you how much I've poured over each and every word you've shared with me. You've been my lifeline to this behemoth of a story. I have so much planned! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!_**

 ** _Your happy yet buzzed of a writer,_**

 ** _semul_**


	5. Easy As Pie

Michonne blinked at the house through the car window. _7126 Alexandria Lane._ This was the address he gave her.

The sandy-colored stucco house with clay shingles stood flawless under a cloudless blue sky, mountains towering in the background. The attractive home's yard was pristinely paved by smooth cement and neat beds of white cobblestone pebbles. Sparse vegetation dotted the rocky yard, a conscientious effort to conserve water in the desert-like climate.

She inhaled nervously, glancing at her packed bags in the back seat. Her chest constricted making it near impossible to take a deep enough breath. Questions ran through her mind as she turned off her car. Immediately, the punishing heat from outside turned the inside of the car into a slow-warming oven.

How could she have ever agreed to this? What the hell had she gotten herself into?

She pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and shoved her car door open before her insecurities took over, stepping out into the sweltering heat. Maybe it was the heat that had temporarily rendered her insane; it was the only explanation. Why else would she agree to such a ridiculous arrangement?

After Rick had revealed to her that he knew who she was and what her true intentions were, she had no other choice but to bite back; a choice that left her with more than she could swallow. In her mission to rid herself of the trap he'd set for her, she'd set herself up with another.

Attempting to blackmail a CIA agent by exposing his identity was not her finest moment. Now here she was, strolling up to said undercover CIA agent's front door, taking on the kind of 'rodeo' she would have never agreed to take part in under any other circumstance.

She tentatively rang the doorbell, praying he didn't hear so she'd have an excuse to leave. While she waited, her sleep deprived eyes glanced around the seemingly normal neighborhood.

Rows of nearly identical houses painted in various shades of muted colors lined the street with their pristine pebbled yards and flawless driveways. It was one of the newer, unnervingly immaculate suburban communities where she assumed the women were happy soccer moms, the men were well-off businessmen, and the children learned to be entitled and self-serving members of society. She shuddered at the thought of permanently giving up her beloved, cozy, New York loft with hardwood floors to live a Stepford wife existence in this hellish part of the world. At least this was temporary, just enough time to get her story, and then she was gone.

The door swung open. Cool air grazed her bare legs as she came face to face with the man who'd instigated her recently sleepless nights.

He wore an expression of wary discontent. She couldn't tell if it was because he was as displeased as her about the whole situation or if it was because he was burning up in the clothes he was wearing. She stared at the same fitted, faded black jeans he wore at the café paired with a denim button up with the sleeves rolled up revealing tan, muscular arms. Looking down she peeked a pair of familiar worn leather boots. She still could not understand how anybody would willingly dress in jeans and boots in heat like this. Either he was immune to the harsh climate or he liked to preserve his modesty. Glancing down at the light sprinkling of hair on his slightly exposed bronzed chest, she'd go with the former.

"Didn't think you'd show up." He glanced down at her high heels, her smooth, long legs leading up to a pair of stylish trouser shorts. Her black, halter-top blouse, complimenting her toned arms, fluttered lightly with the cold air-conditioned breeze as she stoically gazed at him through her sunglasses. She looked like a perfectly manicured city-girl; out of place for this city yet commanding in her presence nonetheless.

Unimpressed by his ill-mannered welcome, she countered, "Didn't think I had much of a choice."

He raised his eyebrows at her bluntness, extending his arm behind him and inviting her into the cool refuge. She briskly walked in, seemingly unaffected by his rude reception, though obviously on edge and ready to take on whatever he threw her way.

He didn't think she would show up, or, at least, he hoped she wouldn't. Then again, something else inside of him swiftly rebutted the idea. Finding her on his doorstep easily qualified as a fantasy he didn't realize he harbored. He only wished it were under different circumstances.

He needed to remind himself that the goal was to get rid of her, although it wasn't going off to a great start. He'd mistakenly theorized the less welcome she'd feel, the more likely she'd go away. As expected, he was wrong; a habit he was sure he'd become familiar with as time passed.

"You have any trouble findin' the place?" He asked as his eyes swept up and down the street, scanning for anything suspicious before firmly shutting the door.

Ignoring his inane question, she perched her sunglasses atop her head and took in the unpretentious, modern style around her.

The foyer was spacious and clear of clutter except for a small end table and a hand-woven patterned area rug. It led to two hallways both on each side of a set of stairs disappearing into the next floor. The sun shone through a spacious window on her left covered by thick, cream-colored curtains. It brightened a dining room with a round wooden table complete with four meticulously placed chairs; a perfect spot for lazy brunches and dimly lit dinners. The room fed into a pristine, white kitchen with stainless steel appliances and marble countertops. It was clean yet welcoming, reminiscent of the kitchens featured on many a blog she'd often peruse on her days off.

To the right of the entryway was a darkened, carpeted living room. The solar curtains were drawn, blocking out the heat of the day. Yet she could make out a large screen TV, a modern yet practical sofa, and two matching armchairs. The sofa tempted her with a couple of plump pillows and a soft throw blanket, the perfect spot for a weary visitor to read or sleep.

The walls throughout the house tastefully displayed decorative art pieces, contemporary art canvases, and enlarged landscape photographs, all of which she assumed were locally contributed. No family pictures to speak of but that didn't come as a surprise. She could only assume the stairs leading to the second floor would reveal more of this seamless yet sensible design.

Overall, his home was a personalized – if not, impeccable – arrangement. And though it could be featured in magazines to the envy of housekeeping enthusiasts, it still felt like a home. She wondered if a girlfriend or wife had a hand in the décor.

Unfortunately, her thoughts escaped her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. "You do this yourself?" She continued gaping at all the flawless details of her new, yet temporary, abode.

He gazed at her questioningly from behind, picking up on her curiosity. "Why?"

"If it was you, you might want to consider a career in interior design. This is gorgeous."

He stared at her for a moment before a smile tugged at his lips. She looked away and took a few more cautious steps into the dining room, her heels lightly knocking against the creamy colored tile floor.

His eyes followed her every move as he acclimated himself to having a woman in his home. He knew it wasn't going to be a habit he would be able to shake off quickly, especially if she continued feeding his ego with her unintentional compliments and subtle possessiveness. And although he had spent a fair amount of time furnishing his home, he didn't want to reveal too much about himself. The less she knew about him, the better.

"It was already furnished when I moved in," he lied, deliberately adding, "and, no, there's nobody else, if that's what you're askin'."

She hadn't asked him outright so as to not give him any wrong ideas but based on his suggestive tone, he was doing a fine job of forming them all on his own. Boundaries needed to be set if they were going to continue with this ruse.

"Fine," she crisply replied, "this doesn't need to get any more complicated than what it is already."

He held her gaze. "It'll be as complicated as you want it to be."

They stared at each other, tension building between them. Deep down, they both knew complications were inevitable in the kind of setup they'd agreed to but neither one wanted to be the first to admit it.

Her phone chimed, breaking the tension. Grateful for the distraction, she quickly excused herself, finding a secluded spot in the dining room to answer the call.

He called out behind her, "Your bags in the car?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, why?"

"Keys."

Realizing his offer was to help; she complied and tossed him her keys. She wasn't planning on hauling her luggage in this heat anyway.

"Thank you," she murmured as she turned to answer her phone, eager to escape the uneasy feelings he was provoking.

He nodded in acknowledgement as the door softly shut behind him.

She braced herself. The easy part was over. Now, she needed to confront the reality of her situation, starting with this call. She was not looking forward to the conversation she was about to have.

She swiped the screen and brought it tentatively to her ear. "Hello?"

"Chonne? Fucking finally! Why didn't you answer any of my texts?"

"I was…busy." She paced around the dining room, taking in the spotlessness. _He must have a service come in and clean,_ she decided. No single man was capable of maintaining such a pristine place.

"Busy? What the hell happened?"

She pulled the sunglasses off her head and fidgeted with them in her hand. "I'm fine, Dre. Nothing bad. I just needed time to think." She shut her eyes and bowed her head. She hadn't slept the past two nights thinking about things. She'd thought through as many ways possible to escape this but to no avail. Everything was still shit and now she had to make it seem like it wasn't to pacify her best friend.

"Think about what?"

She stared up at the ceiling, silently beseeching an invisible entity to help her sound convincing. "I'll tell you what happened but I need you not to freak out."

"I'm beyond freaking out. What happened?"

"I met a guy and before you ask, no, not like that. He works for U.S. Customs and Border Protection," she took a deep breath before revealing the important piece, "He works under Blake."

Andrea paused before cautiously lowering her voice. "I thought you were going straight to the source. Did you change your mind?"

She had revealed her plans to Andrea prior to leaving for El Paso. She was going to infiltrate Blake's offices, win his trust over, and get the answers she needed. Unfortunately, none of her plan had come to fruition.

"Blake's out of town, an impromptu audit of the other sectors. He won't be back for weeks. And since he doesn't answer to anybody here, no one knows when."

Andrea huffed in frustration. She knew how vital it was to get the initial 'in'. With Blake not there, it would be impossible to continue. "That throws everything off. You're gonna have to postpone," she paused in consideration and muttered, "Oh wait, shit. You've already shown your face. That'll make things complicated. But what does that have to do with the guy you met?"

It was time to rip off the band aid. "He figured out who I was."

"What?! How?"

Michonne scrunched her eyes closed, recalling their meeting. "We bumped into each other at the coffee shop I was at and he decided to look in to me," she continued carefully, omitting the fact that he was an undercover CIA agent. "You know how these border officials get. They're paid to be paranoid. He knew who I was before I even stepped into his offices."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Rick Grimes, he's in charge while Blake is away."

Andrea exhaled irately. "Everything's gone to shit then."

"That's what I thought, too, but we worked something out. I convinced him not to blow my cover and he's gonna help."

She paused, suspicious of the simplicity of her explanation. "Just like that?"

"Like I said, I convinced him." Michonne swallowed thickly. She hoped it was enough but knew the questions were coming.

Whispering harshly, Andrea reprimanded her, "Fuck, 'Chonne. You know how blackmailing always comes back to bite us in the ass. What'd you do?"

It was then that Rick came stumbling in, a mountain of luggage loudly tumbling through the open door. He gripped the edges of the doorway and looked up at her, red and sweaty from exertion, a look of consternation on his face. She couldn't help but flash a smirk as if to say 'you asked for it'.

Restraining herself from helping him, she focused her attention back on the conversation. "We have a mutually beneficial agreement."

The irony was not lost on her as she looked up to see Rick rub his lower back from the heavy lifting, running his other hand through his hair as he tried to figure out where to put all her bags. It would be safe to say this arrangement would end up being more beneficial to her than him.

"The hell does that mean?"

She sighed, summarizing the conversation they'd had, "I told him I wasn't going away and that I'd figure out how to get to Blake whether he liked it or not. And if that meant interfering with daily operations, then so be it. It didn't fly with him so we figured the best way for us to not step on each other's toes was to work together."

Andrea chuckled incredulously at her friend's resourcefulness. "Well hell, that worked out for you then, didn't it?"

Her friend was definitely not going to like this next part. "Kind of…"

"What do you mean kind of?"

She watched the man in front of her maneuver his way through her luggage, carefully carrying a few bags at a time to what she assumed would be her room. "We're...married," she revealed.

Andrea laughed. "Ha ha. Funny. Seriously, though, what'd you do?"

"I am serious."

"No, you're not. What happened?"

"It's temporary," she reassured her.

"You didn't...," Andrea's unbelieving voice tapered off as she realized her friend wasn't teasing. "You're fucking kidding me, right?"

"It was my best shot," she argued, "Now, it won't be suspicious when I show up at their offices. I can come and go whenever I want. I can even ask around about Blake, set up a few interviews. This is going to help establish a story."

When her friend remained silent, she hastily continued, "Besides, it's more like I'm pretending to be his ex-wife. Wife wouldn't make sense since his coworkers have known him for a while. And we didn't actually get married. We're just setting up the paperwork to make the marriage and divorce look legitimate. The story is I'm the unmentioned ex-wife who's come back to town to make things work."

The dead silence on the other end made her briefly wonder if she had hung up. She pulled the phone away to quickly check. "Dre? You still there?"

"What. The. Fuck?"

She knew this wasn't going to be easy but she had to try. "Listen, I know this isn't what we had in mind but I had to take it. You better than anybody know that I've been busting my ass to get an in like this for months and I wasn't about to let it pass me by."

"Whose idea was this?"

Although it was entirely his, her goal was to convince her friend to trust her, not encourage her to fly down to Texas and ream the hell out of her for agreeing to such a ridiculous arrangement.

"We made the decision together," she half lied. Sensing her friend's doubt, she quickly continued, "Besides, they're not exactly rolling out the welcome wagon around these parts to black, female reporters from New York. Like I said, with this, I have access to everything without drawing too much suspicion."

Michonne prayed that she understood what was at stake. To be able to have access to files, people, and information that would've otherwise been impossible for her to obtain, was a godsend. It would legitimize her article instead basing it mostly on theories and speculation. More proof, more witnesses, and more resources meant she'd have an infallible argument, a story capable of bringing about real change. If pretending to be married to a border patrol agent opened that many doors, she'd pretend away.

After a long moment of consideration and withholding judgement, Andrea finally picked up on the unspoken insinuations her friend was making. Michonne understood the barriers she faced and knew how to overcome them. She was being smart. Although it seemed insane, it made the most sense.

She reluctantly responded, "I get it. I do, babe, but this is dangerous. You don't even know who this guy is or why he's doing this."

She was right. In the back of her mind, something was telling her to turn back, that moving in with this complete stranger – even if he seemed sane – wasn't the wisest thing to do but her gut was adamant about it. She needed to see this through for her sake, never mind the consequences.

She could only assure her anxious friend with strong resolve. "I need to do this."

Andrea exhaled resignedly. Once Michonne had her mind set on something, nothing on earth could change her mind. She had to respect her decision and believe it was for the best. "Okay, fine. This is fucked up, really fucked up, but I've got your back. I know you know what you're doing. I trust you."

Michonne smiled at her friend's unique way of supporting her.

"So what next?"

Exhaling determinedly, she laid out her plan. "I talked to Glenn. He's working on setting up a new identity for me but, for now, I'm moving in with Rick."

She glanced up as her new roommate sauntered past her and into the kitchen, a dark spot of sweat soaking through his shirt between his broad shoulders. It didn't seem to bother him though. She cautiously studied him as he effortlessly moved around his kitchen oblivious to her staring. It finally dawned on her that it had been a while since she'd lived with a man. It would take a while to adapt to his quirks and habits. She ignored the nervous fluttering in her chest.

Still in the process of accepting her friend's married – or rather divorced –status, Andrea sighed, "Jesus, 'Chonne."

"It's not as bad as you think."

"Of course not," she replied, trying and failing to keep the sarcasm out of her tone.

"I promise I'll keep you updated. I'll call every night."

"Quit saying shit you know you won't do."

Michonne smiled at her friend calling her out. "As often as I can."

"Fine but at least...," Andrea needed to know her friend was going to be safe, "can I at least talk to this guy?"

Michonne's eyes shot up to see the guy in question down an entire glass of water, his Adam's Apple bobbing with each swallow. As much as she currently despised the situation he'd put her in, she wasn't sure if he could handle her friend's wrath. "Dre...," she warned, already imagining their conversation.

"I just need to lay down some ground rules, yeah? Please, for my sake."

She knew she didn't have much of a choice, yet she was hesitant. Her friend had a reputation for not having a filter when it came to telling people off. Though, she knew if she didn't let her get what was off her chest, she'd hear about it until God knows when. After a moment's debate, she conceded. "Fine. Wait."

She dropped her chin down, laying the phone against her chest, hating that she already had to ask him for a favor. "Rick?"

"Yeah?" She heard him set down his glass in the sink and the sound of his boots as he strutted into the dining room.

He stood with his hands on his hips, the front of his shirt damp with sweat. Slightly out of breath, he lifted his chin questioningly.

"My friend, Andrea, she'd like to speak with you."

Puzzled by her request, he asked, "Why?"

She shook her head and shrugged lightly.

Cautiously, he approached her as she held out the phone for him. He eyed her carefully as he took the device from her hand.

He rasped, "Hello?"

Wasting no time, Andrea immediately laid down the law. "Listen up, asshole. I don't know who you think you are getting my girl wrapped up in this shit but you better listen to me and listen to me good."

Rick blinked, taken aback by the adamant woman on the phone. He turned slightly away from the questioning looks Michonne was giving him. "I'm listening," he replied hesitantly.

"Just because you got her backed into a corner doesn't mean she's alone. If you so much as touch one hair on her head, I will personally fly down there and fuck you up so hard, your sad excuse for a nutsack will shrivel up and fall off just to get away from the sad excuse of a man that'll be left."

His mouth slightly parted at the earnest threat. He attempted to explain, "I don't have any intentions of–"

She swiftly cut him off. "Good. You better not because if you hurt her in anyway, I will literally cut your tongue out and shove it so far up your ass, you'll be able to taste what you ate three years ago. Don't think for one second you can say or do anything to her without me knowing. I am watching you, motherfucker. And trust me when I say I could give two shits who you are or what you do, Rick Grimes, I will fuck you up. Do not fuck with my friend, you southern fried piece of shit, or I will end you. Is that clear?"

Thoroughly disturbed by the explicit description of how she would torture him, were he ever to make the mistake of hurting the woman in front of him, he cleared his throat and nervously replied, "Y-yeah. 'Course."

She scoffed. "Fuck you. Now put my friend back on the phone."

He nodded silently and turned back to Michonne. He could barely look her in the eye as he tried to process the conversation. "It's for you."

She looked at him probingly but before she could ask, he swiftly walked away, nervously wiping his hand on his shirt, making her question what kind of threats Andrea had made.

Staring after him, she spoke into her device. "What'd you tell him, Dre?"

"Nothing you need to worry about. You just keep me updated, okay?"

As he disappeared down the hall, she reluctantly consented. "I will."

After a heavy silence filled with unsaid questions and worry, Andrea sighed. "Listen, I've gotta go but you tell me if this fucker tries anything. You call, text, send a goddamn telegram, whatever, whenever. You got that?"

Michonne could hear the genuine concern in her voice. She knew if she showed the slightest doubt, her friend would shut it all down. She quickly replied, "Yeah, I will."

"You be careful."

"Thank you."

"Remember what I said, anytime."

"Okay."

"Be careful," she repeated.

Swallowing back nerves, she nodded. "Bye, Dre."

"Bye, Chonne."

Staring at the blank screen on her phone, a passing urge to call her back came over her. _What if she was right to be worried? What if this really was insane?_

A voice startled her from her thoughts. "Your friend, she's protective."

She faced the man who'd provoked the uncertainty between them. "We look out for each other."

He studied her for a moment before nodding in understanding.

Unable to determine if he was attempting to insinuate something with his lack of response, she defensively inquired, "You got a problem with my friend?"

He could see her fierce loyalty. It was a good thing, something he didn't often see in his line of work. The last thing he had was a problem with it.

He shook his head in surrender. "No, no problem."

He could see her studying him, making up her mind whether he was worth all the aggravation or not. After unintentionally picking up on bits and pieces of her phone conversation, he realized how committed she was to this assignment of hers, along with the fact that she wasn't interested in blowing his cover. It only meant his initial plans to quickly get her off his back wouldn't work. She had shown that she was as good as her word and that she had the support she needed to tolerate whatever he threw her way. In addition to the fact that he was no longer tempted to test his boundaries after that explicit threat to his tongue and sensitive bits. The fate of his mission was now entirely in her hands. He looked away, awaiting her decision.

She swallowed thickly, fighting against an urge to purse her lips. Her mother's voice was in the back of her mind, urging her to remember her manners. If this was going to work, she'd need to be an appreciative guest. Starting out on the wrong foot wouldn't do her any favors.

"Thank you. For bringing in my bags," she said, doing her best to not add on, _even though I didn't ask you to_.

He conceded, "Of course, they're in the spare bedroom."

She nodded unsurely, the silence between them hanging heavy with questions. As ridiculous as this arrangement sounded, it was still happening. This was going to be their lives for the next undetermined amount of weeks. They were a husband and estranged wife living together attempting to mend the broken bond between them. How they were going to pull this off was still uncertain, a mountain of questions lay before them.

He decided to take the first step.

"So you've got protective friends or friend, at least. Is there an interior designer in your life that I should know about, too?"

She screwed her face up in confusion, completely baffled by his random question. What did interior design have anything to do with their arrangement?

He prodded further, albeit more awkwardly than before. "Are there…is there someone else I need to know about?"

He looked at her almost in earnest. After a moment, a look of understanding finally settled over her features. He wanted to know if she was with anyone. She supposed it was a fair question since he'd answered it himself, although, she wasn't sure why it was important for him to know. Even if she was, what they were doing was for work not pleasure. There was no reason to think this was going to be more than a professional arrangement. She reiterated that point with a firm reminder. "No, like I said, this doesn't need to get complicated."

He stared at her for a moment, again provoking an uneasy feeling in her stomach. It was almost as if he was trying to figure out as many ways as he could to complicate this just to spite her. Then again, the absence of a knowing smirk made her wonder if it wasn't just all in her head.

He finally looked away with a nod. "Good."

Still unsure of what was going on behind those intense blue eyes, she cleared her throat and asked. "May I use your restroom?"

Amused by her forced politeness, he shifted his weight and pointed out to her, "If this is gonna work, you can't be asking to use your own bathroom. Mi casa es su casa, right?"

She arched her eyebrow at his unwelcome reprimand, still awaiting directions.

He tried not to smile at her silent way of shutting him down. "Down that hall to the right."

"Thank you." She briskly walked away, eager to escape the tense mood he was provoking.

"You're welcome," he murmured, guardedly watching her saunter away, his eyes betraying him with a glance to her breathtaking rear end. His eyelashes fluttered as he promptly looked away. If he didn't get his head straight, she was going to be his undoing. He returned to the kitchen, hoping more space would help ease the sudden jitters in his stomach.

Things had not gone as expected. He should have known the moment she walked through his door she was not going to make this easy on him. If anything, one idea was becoming clearer: Michonne Anthony was an unpredictable force of nature he could only hope to survive.

* * *

 _ **Hello again!**_

 _ **I hope you're enjoying this Richonne buildup! It's a slow burn but I'm trying to stoke the fire just right before we finally see the flames. :)**_

 _ **Thank you to my gorgeous beta, michonnesbooty, for smoothing out all the rough edges and providing beautiful words of encouragement.**_

 _ **And thank you to all the readers of this humble, little story. This is seriously the first time I've ever reached over 100 follows on any story I've ever written in my entire life. All the follows, favorites, and reviews keep me going. I truly wish I could respond to all the generous reviews but just know that I devour every single word you send my way. All the encouragement and questions and outpouring of love touches a place deep in my writer's heart and makes it grow stronger each time. Thank you so much!**_

 _ **Your melting from all the attention (and blazing hot summer weather) writer,**_

 _ **semul**_


	6. Like Putting Socks on a Rooster

The whirring, wire fan sluggishly pushed the thick, warm air from one end of the darkened room to the other. Slits of moonlight shined through the roughly cut pieces of cardboard covering the small windows.

Nighttime had a minimal effect on the stifling heat in Juárez, even at 4:30 in the morning.

Sweat poured down Rick's body as he waited inside the tiny, ramshackle house. His clothes stuck to his tense body. He was ready to get the interrogation out of the way.

Finally, the rumbling of a car squeaked to a stop outside the tiny shack. He gripped his gun in his lap. Moments later, the only door to the house rattled open.

Oblivious to another presence in the room, the target mindlessly threw down his bag and locked the door behind him. He swore under his breath, pulling at his damp shirt, immediately yanking open his refrigerator. He popped open a cold beer and took a long swig of the amber liquid, resting his arm against the cool door.

Midway through another sip, the click of the gun's hammer echoed throughout the room.

The guy pulled the beer away as he held his hands up with a scoff, nonchalantly turning around. "Alright, guys, you don't need to do this every time…," his voice went quiet.

He didn't recognize the intruder sitting in his living room dimly illuminated by the refrigerator light. His eyes slid to his abandoned bag by the door.

"Ah, ah, ah," Rick warned as he stood, the chair quietly scraping against the cement floor.

"Come on, man," the young guy mumbled, raising his hands higher above his head.

"Put it down."

He placed the beer on the counter behind him, keeping his hands up.

"Gargulio, right?"

The squint of his eyes kept Rick hidden in the shadows, although, it didn't prevent him from attempting to make out the features of his intruder. "What do you want?"

"You drove a fruit truck across the border three days ago, that sound 'bout right?"

Mustering a bit of courage, he spat out, "What's it to you?"

"There was supposed to be a shipment of cocaine on that truck. What happened to that shipment, Gargulio?"

Believing it to be another test, he feigned confusion. "The hell you talking about? I was hired to deliver fruit."

Rick eased toward him like a predator approaching his prey. "Who hired you?"

"Man, I just deliver fruit–"

He slammed his head against the open fridge door, threw him to the floor, and pinned him until his face was against the ground, his arms immobile. "Don't lie to me."

Gargulio panicked. "I'm not. I'm not. I sw-swear to god. They just told me to drive. I thought it was fruit!"

"See," Rick grunted as he placed more pressure on him, "I don't think you're tellin' me the truth."

The young guy screamed, his arm bending back sharply.

"I think you're coverin' for someone and you're going to tell me who." Rick continued bending his arm, near to the point of breaking it, aware of the excruciating pain he must have been experiencing.

He cried out in agony, clawing at the ground with his other hand, desperate to end the torture. "Fuck! Okay, okay! It was some Mexican guy. He th-threatened me. T-told me I was going to drive for him. He said it would be easier for a 'white boy' t-to get across the border. They showed up with a t-truck a few days ago. I didn't ask any questions."

Relenting on the pressure, Rick remained quiet for a moment before drawling decidedly, "Nah, that ain't it." He twisted his arm again.

Gargulio shrieked. "Ah, fuck you! Fuck you, man! Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!"

"Who do you work for?"

"Fuck you!"

Bathed in the yellow light of the open refrigerator, Rick turned him over and slammed him to the ground, pinning his forearm across his windpipe, the muzzle of his cocked gun resting against his sweaty forehead. "Who do you work for?"

Gargulio clawed at his arm, struggling to breathe. Suddenly he stopped, blinking up at him in recognition. "You?"

Rick glared.

He snorted in between short gasps of air. "Grimes, right?"

He slammed him down again, lowering his face closer. "Who are you?"

Regaining his nerve, he sneered, still gripping at the iron hold Rick had on him. "They've been watching you." With the anger ignited in his attacker's eyes, he persisted, "Yeah, that's right, you and your black bitch."

Rick instinctively pressed down on his neck, wanting to crush his windpipe. What information did they have on her? How long had they been under surveillance? Fear replaced his alarm. She was in danger. He growled, "Who are you?"

Twitching beneath him, Gargulio choked out, "They know. They're everywhere."

Losing whatever was left of his patience, he barked, "Who?"

"You know who."

Rick's jaw tightened as the truth became plain as day. There was only one person who had the means of operating a drug cartel and getting intel on him without drawing suspicion. "The Governor."

Gargulio snickered until Rick slammed his head against the cement floor again with a resounding thud and dug his gun into his temple. "Tell me what you know and I won't blow your brains out."

"Fuck you. You're dead. She's dead. You're all fuckin' dead!" He spat at him.

Rick growled, the rage within him reaching a boiling point. His mind ignored the logic screaming at him to analyze the situation. Instead, he hastily shoved his gun into the waistband of his pants and pummeled his face until it was a bloody mess, stopping only to pick him up by the collar, assuming it was enough to motivate him to start talking. "Tell me."

The beaten man, short of breath, turned his head to dribble out a mouthful of blood. He turned to smile at his assailant with his blood stained teeth and coughed out his last words, "F-fuck you."

Rick sneered before his face went neutral. Gargulio had worn out his usefulness. He wasn't about to reveal anything more. He roughly released his hold on him and stood as he immediately attempted to crawl to his pack by the door.

Before he could reach it, Rick brusquely flipped him over with his dusty boot and pointed his gun at his lolling head. Gargulio sneered at him, ready to spit out another taunt. Rick unleashed a single shot between his eyes.

Only his shallow breaths echoed throughout the stuffy room, the smell of iron wafting in the air.

This was bad.

Tightly gripping his gun, he closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead with the knuckle of his thumb, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in: his cover was compromised and she was on their radar. It had all gone to hell.

The smartest move would be to end it. He could call his superiors, tell him he fucked up and they'd send him off on some mission to South America for however long they deemed necessary. Michonne would end up under protective custody, possibly witness protection. She'd have to give up her home and career and move to some small town in the middle of nowhere.

She'd really enjoy that. He could already imagine her sneaking back on her own to get her story. It wouldn't end well for her.

If he reported this, they would be safe but everything he had worked for, everything she had worked for, would be gone.

No, they couldn't let these guys win. He opened his eyes to stare at the still body before him, blood pooling on the dusty floor. This guy was expendable. He was just another worker, someone who could get killed and they wouldn't blink an eye but even he knew about him and Michonne.

The corruption he'd spent months chasing had been sneaking around his front yard the entire time. Now it was a direct threat yet he couldn't give up. He wouldn't. She wasn't about to either but if they stayed, they'd be in for a fight, a battle he couldn't guarantee that they'd make it out of unscathed. Was it really worth it?

Picturing the determined look on her face – that stare that had quickly disquieted the monotony of his everyday life – he made up his mind.

He closed his eyes with a huff and shoved his gun back in his jeans. "Shit."

Taking out his phone, Rick began preparing for the imminent storm.

* * *

Michonne's muscles deliciously stretched as she effortlessly curved down until her nose skimmed her knees. Her fingers crept across her yoga mat as she crawled forward into a downward dog position. The soft click of the front door didn't register but a still presence did.

Gradually becoming aware of a pair of dusty boots standing at the entrance of the living room, she wound down her routine. After a few moments, she stood erect and blinked at her spectator.

He stood with a coffee carrier in one hand and keys in the other. She hid a smirk at his slightly parted mouth and raised eyebrow. She considered teasing him but stopped herself as she regarded his tight brown shirt and dark blue jeans. It flattered his freshly washed curls and enticing pink lips. She was fairly sure she'd have the same expression on her face if she stopped to admire the view, too.

"Good morning," she greeted, mildly studying his startled features a moment longer before crouching to roll up her mat.

He cleared his throat, nervously shifting his feet. "Mornin'."

Sensing that she would be the one to initiate most of the conversations in this arrangement, she stood with a sigh of satisfaction. "Hope you don't mind me taking up your living room for a bit."

After witnessing the display he'd walked in on, he would never mind her taking up any room. Ever. Anywhere. Anytime. In any position but he wasn't about to tell her that.

Shrugging off a jolt of arousal, he ambled into the dining room. "It's yours, too. Use it whenever you like."

She nodded with a small smile, following a few steps behind.

"Coffee?" He held up two different cups before setting them down on the table.

"Yeah."

"I wasn't sure how you took yours so I got that iced one you ordered the other day and another just plain black. I've got creamer in the fridge."

 _He remembered what I ordered_? A shiver slid down her shoulders. He must've been paying closer attention to her than she believed. It stirred up something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

She reached for the iced one, sitting down in one of the chairs. "Thank you. I usually go for regular with a splash of soy milk. But iced is probably the better option in this weather anyway."

Adding soy milk to his mental grocery list, he took a seat. "Maybe."

They silently drank from their cups, their thoughts running wildly in their heads. After a few moments of charged silence, she resolved to begin digging for answers but he beat her to the punch.

"You sleep good?"

She glanced up at him coyly, wondering how he managed to ask the question she was about to ask. "Yes, I did," she answered carefully, tacking on a sincere compliment, "Thanks again for bringing in my things."

His knee bounced under the table as his finger fidgeted with the lid of his cup. "Anytime."

Recognizing his sudden show of nerves, she quietly pointed out, "I heard you leave this morning."

He stilled, nodding silently after a moment. She was digging but he couldn't tell her where or why he snuck out so early. There were aspects of his job he didn't want to share with her, aspects that he was sure would change the way she looked at him. He especially couldn't tell her she was in more danger than they thought. She would want to dig into it, ask questions, and pursue leads that would take her down an unknown, dangerous path. She was his responsibility now. He placed her in this situation and now he had to keep her safe, even from herself.

"So you're an early riser then?" The gleam in her eye tempted him as she continued to coax out an explanation.

"I had to take care of some things," he stated with a tone of finality.

He took another drink of his coffee, staring at her over the top of his cup in what she interpreted as distrust. She frowned. His sudden shut down didn't come as a surprise but was jarring nonetheless. The drinks were just a temporary peace offering and not an invitation to begin setting the foundations of trust.

As much as she despised the situation they were in, they were in it together. Of course, he had a right to maintain his privacy but an explanation as to why he came back looking like he'd washed himself up to hide something from her could be something she needed to know.

In her mind, only two options could explain it: he either went to the gym and then showered or he was at someone else's house and chose to shower. If it was the latter, she needed to know if it was going to be a common occurrence so she could stay out of the way. She wasn't mad that he'd lied to her and it wasn't like she was about to fly into a jealous rage or demand he stop seeing whoever he was seeing. She had no claim on him to make that kind of request anyway. They just needed to start somewhere, hopefully a place of honesty, and he wasn't making it easy.

She sighed at his resistant attitude. "Really?"

"What?"

She gave him a look. "If this is gonna work, we need to start somewhere, don't you think?"

He lightly sucked in his cheeks, setting down his coffee. She had a point. If he was going to block off certain paths for her to follow, he'd need to give her something else to focus on, otherwise, she'd go over his head. Remembering what he'd picked up on his way back, he nodded.

"Alright," he acquiesced, digging into his pocket.

She stared at him, curious as to why he'd given into her request so quickly. Then he set down two golden rings on the table. The breath left her lungs.

"I went to the gym, then picked these up."

Overcoming her shock, she shakily inhaled as she stared at the gleaming rings. The insignificance of discovering the reasoning behind his shower brushed past her but the significance of their arrangement finally hit her like a bolt of lightning.

It was a symbol of their marriage, a union solely meant to be a ruse yet real in the eyes of everyone else. A vague memory of the rings she'd buried with Mike came to mind. The ones sitting in front of her were nothing like the ones she'd chosen in eager anticipation a lifetime ago. These were plain gold and very expensive, she could tell by their color. They were simple, no gems of any sort, no special design. Hers was thin, his a bit thicker. They were solid, capable of withstanding any treatment that could be inflicted upon them.

Breathlessly, she asked, "Why?"

Wide with fear, her eyes searched his. She wanted to run. Yesterday, he would've been relieved. This could have been the push she needed to abandon the assignment but after this morning, everything had changed.

He needed to keep her near, her safety was his priority now. Believability was key. She needed to grasp how serious this was and whoever was watching them needed to believe that this marriage was real, that he was capable of killing for her, of giving his life for her. It was too late to send her away and hope she'd be safe. To protect her, he needed to surround her with support.

Until this was all over, he would stay by her side and increase surveillance on her, a detail he took care of with Maggie early this morning after cleaning himself up at the gym. Now, it was only a matter of getting the woman sitting before him to buy it without exposing her to the truth.

So, he gave her a reason she could handle. "'Cause this needs to be real. As real as it can be." He slid the smaller ring toward her.

She hesitantly picked it up; the weight of it didn't match the weight she'd assigned it. Its significance nearly overwhelmed her. She slowly slid it onto her finger. Her heart fluttered. It was a perfect fit. She searched his eyes in surprise.

He shrugged, picking up on her unspoken question. "Figured you're probably not into diamonds or jewels; these are more practical anyway. I pretty much guessed the ring size."

He'd chosen it for her. These simple yet elegant bands were the result of careful thought and observation. She was rendered speechless. His observation of her was thorough, down to the most seemingly insignificant detail.

She softly marveled at it, "I don't even remember my ring size."

His eyes softened at her appreciation, easily slipping his on. He wasn't accustomed to wearing jewelry, yet the solid band naturally hugged his finger as if it had finally found its rightful place. He could get used to it.

Michonne heaved a sigh, blinking at her band of gold, capturing his attention. "I still can't believe this is happening."

"Second thoughts?"

It's almost as if he could read her mind. She sharply inhaled, shaking out of her stupor. "We just need to get our story straight."

She was right. There was a lot they needed to discuss. He was prepared to accept whatever conditions she placed, so as long as it kept her safe and by his side.

Ready to lay down the foundations of this relationship, her eyes bore into his. "We need to keep this as close to the truth as possible," she advised.

He nodded in agreement. "Alright, what'd you have in mind?"

She stared at the ice cubes floating in her drink. Last night, while tossing and turning in bed, she had sat up in realization: she knew nothing about the man she had agreed to marry. And while she should've panicked, she only felt a sense of displeasure. It wasn't fair that he knew more about her than she did about him.

"Since you already know about me, tell me about yourself." She held the clear plastic cup with both hands, patiently awaiting his story.

Steadily, he recounted the necessary details. "I'm from a small town called King County, Georgia. My name is Rick Grimes–"

"Wait," she swiftly interrupted, "Is this you giving me your cover or the truth?"

Her tenacity was too endearing to ignore. A smile pulled at his lips. "Both. My name is Thomas Richard Grimes Hayes. I grew up as Thomas Hayes."

Rick was short for Richard and Grimes must have been his mother's maiden name. Yet, that didn't make sense. "You can use your real name when you're undercover?" She blinked at him skeptically.

"When I joined the agency, my past was expunged. Both my parents are gone now and my brother is special ops. I haven't talked to him in years but I assume he did the same. When they asked what I wanted to use, I chose my middle names 'cause I wanted to. It's a simple mission, not one that requires a lot of hidin'."

It made sense. She couldn't imagine what kind of deep undercover missions he must have endured in his time spent with the agency. This probably wasn't too intense of an assignment if it kept him within the country. She prodded a bit further, hoping to get him to open up a bit more. "So is all the rest true, too? Birthdate, phone number, shoe size, _hair color_?" She hid a small, teasing smile.

Appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood, he grinned almost bashfully. "Most of it with a few things changed here and there."

She eyed his hair suspiciously before nodding with a secretive smile. The tension dissipated between them. He liked it. He liked her streak of mischievousness. He wanted more.

"How 'bout you, 'Michelle Harrison'? What's the story behind that name?"

Taking a sip from her straw, she raised her eyebrow skeptically. "You mean you don't already know?"

He deserved that. He'd done more than invade her privacy; he'd practically uncovered every detail of her life. Though, in his defense, he left most of her personal life alone.

He nodded in reluctant agreement at her half-hearted accusation. "I probably know less than you think." When she maintained her silence, he prodded further. "I could guess but I'd rather hear it from you."

Eyeing him cautiously, she sighed good-humoredly, still hesitant to believe him. Although, the innocent expression on his face was doing a number to her defenses.

"Alright," coming to terms that he wasn't going to back down, she explained her cover, "Michelle is the name most people who don't bother to read or pronounce my name correctly call me. And Harrison...," her smile fell, her breath abruptly leaving her. She furrowed her brow as she allowed herself to push past the pain that constricted her lungs. "Harrison was my fiancé's last name."

Understanding fell over Rick's face. He didn't expect her to share that part of her life if she didn't want to. Dredging up the past was painful enough, let alone one filled with a trauma like the one she experienced.

Her eyes were downcast for a moment before they gazed up at him inquiringly. "How much do you know about him already?"

He answered truthfully. "Only what was mentioned in articles. And your Pulitzer piece."

His admission filled her with relief. It was one thing to invade her privacy, another to invade her loved ones' privacy. Her heart, though almost fully mended, still hurt. Mike's memory always brought cold sweats and nights of terror with it. And though a sleepless night lay ahead of her, being strong enough to confront the truth was an important step. Talking about Mike would do her some good; at least that's what her therapist would tell her.

"Mike was more than the attention his death drew," she paused, wistfully remembering his introverted nature. "He would've hated seeing himself plastered all over the papers. He was a quiet person. He liked his privacy but when it came to work, that's when he'd share his soul with the world. He captured the subtleties of life, the things we take for granted. He made them the center of his pictures and it was beautiful. His love of the understated followed him everywhere yet there was this life in him that drew people like moths to a flame."

She smiled, recalling her fascination with his work that eventually led to her falling in love. "I was that moth for four years; we were engaged for two of them. That was my fault. I wanted to travel, live our lives before we settled down. He went along with it but I knew he wanted the white picket fence and two and half kids. He was ready for a family." Knitting her brow, she confessed a truth she had been keeping to herself for too long. "But I didn't want that kind of a life. To be honest, I don't think I ever did."

Her glassy gaze searched his. Only soft empathy reflected in his marble blue eyes rather than the disgust she deserved or the pity she had become accustomed to. He understood her. He didn't judge her or make her feel ashamed. He simply listened. She couldn't even turn to her own family for that kind of support.

Then a thought popped into her head: she had just shared Mike with someone else without breaking down. Disbelief crossed her features. She rarely talked about him and when she did, it usually involved an ugly crying session and finishing off a couple of bottles of wine with Andrea.

This was different yet cathartic all the same. Fear briefly filled her mind. This was too easy. Sharing herself with this complete stranger shouldn't be that easy. It felt like a betrayal. She quickly blinked away the tears in her eyes with a deep breath, deflecting her thoughts with a tight smile. "And now here I am. Married and living in the suburbs. Guess that makes me a liar."

He reached across the table and held out his hand, wordlessly offering her comfort. She studied his patient blue gaze, hesitantly laying her palm in his callused one. He gently squeezed it. "We're on a mission. Together. That's what this is. You're not doin' anything wrong. This, what you're doin', it's gonna make a difference. It'll change things. You've gotta believe that. I believe that. You've got this." He examined her gaze intently, hoping his reassurance had reached her.

It was odd how he knew exactly what to say to remind her of her own strength. _I've got this._ They were words she lived her life by. They were words she believed in and now they were words he believed in. Her heart fluttered in her chest before she pulled away with a flash of a smile. "Right, that's what this is. I've got this."

Realizing the heaviness of the moment, he changed the subject, much to her relief. They needed to focus on something mundane, ease the intensity crackling between them. They discussed a few basic details – birthdates, parent's names, schools – the kind of data needed to fill out a medical form on each other but something still bothered her.

Regaining her focus, she pointed out, "So I know my Glenn and your Maggie are working on the final details but I still feel like I'm at a disadvantage."

His eyes narrowed inquisitively.

"You know a lot about me but I still have no idea who you are, aside from what you just told me. And it's not like I can just look you up."

"Ask me," he simply stated.

"What?"

"Whatever you need to know, just ask."

Unsure of if he was actually giving her an all access pass, she skeptically asked, "Really?"

He patiently awaited her first question.

"Okay." Michonne thoughtfully paused for a moment, "Have you ever done something like this before?"

"What?"

"Marriage."

He glanced down at his cup, undesirable memories immediately flooding his mind. Of course, she would ask about the most painful experience of his life. Leave it to Michonne Anthony to hit her target the first time. Again.

Carefully treading down the memory path he'd been avoiding for years, he reluctantly admitted, "I was engaged once."

He glanced up, gauging her reaction. She only silently prompted him, no sign of judgement in her warm brown eyes. He sharply inhaled, tentatively reciprocating her earlier candor. "I was a young kid, a few years out of high school. She'd just graduated and it just seemed like the next step."

She waited for more.

"Turned out we wanted different things." He took a long sip of coffee, hoping that was enough to be considered reciprocating.

Disappointment flickered in her eyes. She tried not to take it personally but after revealing her cards – cards she didn't even realize she was holding – she couldn't help but feel cheated. Then again, she didn't want to push the issue. She could tell it was a sore spot for him. She quietly pinched her cup's straw, fighting off her discontent.

Recognizing the disillusionment, he set his cup down and heavily exhaled. She deserved more but he was never good at sugarcoating the truth. Hopefully, she wouldn't be put off by it.

He bared his hurt pride and continued grinding out the dirty details. "I was a sheriff's deputy who attended a special weapons training and she was the girl who spent the weekend in my best friend's bed."

Unsure of how to respond, she cautiously blinked at him.

He closed his eyes, his pettiness on full display. The past was the past. It didn't matter anymore. So, the story he had never shared with anybody finally crept out of the deep hole he'd buried it, releasing its choking hold on him.

"It was a month before the wedding. Lori, she was mad at me for leavin' her with all the plannin'. We'd been under some stress for the past few months with the wedding, her family, and everythin' else. Things weren't turnin' out the way we thought. So I left for training, thinkin' some time and space would be good for us. I told my partner, Shane, to keep an eye on her."

He licked his lips wearily, remembering his former best friend. "I…I trusted him. I just didn't know he had feelings for her the whole time. She was lookin' for comfort and he was there. I didn't find out till the day before the wedding that she was pregnant." He scoffed at his past self's trusting nature. "I was happy, thought we'd got an early start on our family. So I told my best friend the good news."

He vividly remembered the quiet night that followed. Rick had stopped by her parents' house after work, hoping to let her know about Shane and talk to her about some wedding detail but her parents had said she'd gone out for a walk. It was their familiar voices that lured him to her family's barn where he found his best friend hugging his fiancé. She was crying, sobbing incoherently. Though he wanted to step in, curiosity kept him quiet.

"That night I found them in her parents' barn," he said, recounting every painful detail, "I overheard it, said they were going to keep it from me, make me believe it was mine. They knew I'd raise it as my own."

He'd never forget the nausea at hearing their plan. Their betrayal slithered throughout him, poisoning his insides, only to have it increase ten-fold as he witnessed his best friend and fiancé kiss with a passion he'd never known.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head as if to recall the exact feeling of having his entire world come crashing down. "And I would've, raised him as my own, but I couldn't put a child through that kind of a life, not when he had two parents who obviously wanted to be together. So I called off the wedding and I left. Buried myself in trainin' and studyin', became an agent, and moved on. Since then, marriage has never been an option."

Michonne took a moment to process everything he'd shared with her. It was heartbreaking and unfair. How could somebody do that to the person they'd chosen to spend the rest of their life with? And she was damn sure no friend of hers would ever pull that kind of backstabbing shit on her. She couldn't imagine the pain he must have gone through. It would explain why he had dedicated his life to such a lonely existence.

Although, one thing stuck out in her mind, a detail that made her wonder if he'd actually ever recovered from it. She peeked up at the vulnerable man in front of her. "Him?"

He inhaled deeply, expecting her to catch the small detail. "His name's Carl. Ten-years-old. Bright kid. Looks just like Lori." A flash of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth but was quickly replaced with a pensive look.

"You kept tabs?"

He raised his eyebrows with a shrug. "Not really, I just needed to know before I chose my name for this thing. Not many people left in that town to complicate things. Lori and Shane moved away a few years back."

She nodded in understanding as he pushed past the undesirable feelings that had resurfaced. The pain that had once broken his heart was now but a fleeting thud in his chest. The only emotion he held toward the two people he once loved and the town he'd called home was slight nostalgia. The anger and resentment was gone. The realization of it came over him as he stared into her inquisitive eyes. He could sense her compassion and it sent a jolt of something inexplicable to his heart. He gazed at her, mystified, as she extended her hand to squeeze his resting one on the table.

"I'm sorry, Rick."

He blinked at their entwined hands. "I-it's fine." He gave her a consoling smile. "It worked out the way it needed to."

She returned the smile and gave his hand another squueze before she pulled back with a sigh, much to his disappointment.

"And now we're here," she said, reaching for her cup.

"Now we're here."

They quietly sipped from their cups, fully appreciating the newfound bond forming between them. A smile played on her lips. They still needed to invent their own fictional past. Considering how much shit they'd overcome, it would be a walk in the park. She looked at him and raised her eyebrow suggestively.

Once he perceived her playful mood, he froze in uncertainty. "What?"

"What's our story then?"

He blinked in confusion, his mind still muddled by the smirk she was giving him. "Our story?"

"How'd we meet? Fall in love? Break each other's hearts?"

He bit his lip with a smile, lowering his head. The thought of him ever daring to break her heart was a laugh. He peeked up at her. "Broken hearts?"

She playfully rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

He nodded in consideration. "It's like you said, we need to keep it as close to the truth as possible."

She pondered for a moment. "Okay, then…we met in a coffee shop?"

It made sense. He added on a detail. "While I was training in Atlanta."

"While you were engaged?"

Not wanting to taint their fictional beginnings with his failed engagement, he replied, "After."

"Okay, so then we got married. In Atlanta, at a small courthouse ceremony."

He nodded in agreement.

"We were married for several years then?"

Making the calculations in his head, he figured what would make the most sense given his established identity. "Three. We lived in King County. I was a sheriff's deputy and you were a homemaker."

She scoffed.

"What?"

"Homemaker? Really?"

She was offended. He should've known better than to reduce her to a domestic wife type. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd have pictured him as the domestic husband type in this scenario.

"Bookkeeper," she firmly stated, not giving him any room for argument, "I found the job after I gave up the city for you." She wanted to say _for your country ass_ but figured it was too early in their fake relationship to be insulting him.

He grinned. "Alright, bookkeeper. We lived in a townhouse and we owned a…we owned a '69, cherry red, Chevy truck," he said decisively, wordlessly daring her to one-up him on the fictional details again.

Her eyes flashed with defiance. "Then we adopted a gorgeous, black cat named Charlie. The two of you didn't get along."

They stared at each other for a moment before their smiles broke the tension. He chuckled, earning a giant grin from her.

He continued, daring to push his luck a little further. "Fine. Besides the cat, we were happy. Ready to start a family. Five kids, at least. Two boys and three girls."

She choked out a laugh. "Uh, excuse you?"

Judging by the disbelieving expression on her face, it would be a cold day in hell before she'd ever agree to five or more kids with him. He pursed his lips with a slight smirk. He was fairly sure he could make a convincing argument but compromised instead, "Fine, three maybe four."

Unimpressed and refusing to even acknowledge his request, she swiftly moved on with a playful roll of her eyes. "Basically, things were looking up. You got a promotion. I was pursuing my law degree."

He nodded in contemplative approval. "Attorney Grimes."

"Attorney Harrison-Grimes."

"Hyphenated?" He screwed up his face though he actually didn't mind. He had never been that attached to his last name anyway, real or not.

She gave him a decisive nod, convinced that she would have chosen to hyphenate if given the choice. "How do you think you got me to marry you?"

The scoff he let out built up to an outright chuckle. She had a point. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined marrying a woman as talented, beautiful, and impressive as her. Besides, she would have never given him the time of day and rightfully so. If for some miraculous reason they would have somehow ended up together, he would have done whatever she asked in order to marry her, hyphenated last name included.

Once their laughter died down, he shrugged amenably at her question. "Harrison-Grimes it is."

Still smiling, he realized he was more than happy to leave the small details up to her. In the end, he would've left those kinds of things in her hands if any of it had actually happened. Whatever made her happy would've been good enough for him.

Luckily, all the decisions they'd so far made about their fictional past were suitable for both of them but this story wasn't about making up a happy past. If their marriage had been working out, then what had led to their split?

As if reading his mind, she asked, "So what happened?"

He raised his eyebrows in consideration. "That's the question."

They sat in silence as they thought through possible reasons for them to have split up. It proved to be a difficult task not only for Rick but for her as well. The marriage they painted didn't seem like it had any reason to end.

Finally, she settled on the most common and ambiguous explanation. "Irreconcilable differences?"

"Sounds about as good as any."

They took a sobering moment to mourn their failed fictional marriage, understanding the necessity to absorb the imagined emotions in order to bring a layer of authenticity to their arrangement.

After a moment, curiosity won out on his somber mood. "Who filed?"

It made sense for her to initiate the divorce and reunion so she declared, "Me. If it was you, I wouldn't have come back."

Soaking in the revelation, he calculated his already established story into the setup. "It'd have to have been five years ago then. 'Cause the story is I stayed in King County for a year, then took some jobs in a few different states before coming to El Paso."

"So we were together for three and divorced for five. That would mean I was twenty-four and you were twenty-seven when we got married. How long did we date before we got married then?"

"Probably a few months. It would explain the irreconcilable differences, getting married that young, still trying to figure out life."

That would make sense. At twenty-four, she was barely starting to make her way into the world. No way would she have been ready to settle down, which would explain why she left a few years later. Feeling unfulfilled and restless to explore life would have certainly ended a marriage involving her.

But how would they explain her inquisitive nature? She needed to ask questions but having a legal background probably wouldn't open as many doors as she'd like.

She came up with a suggestion. "How about I moved to New York before I asked for the divorce? Pursuing a career could have been enough to end a marriage."

He considered it as she continued, "That way we could say I worked for a few different fashion magazines, trying my hand at journalism, explaining all the questioning I'm going to do. We could say the reason I left was to avoid staying and resenting you. The split wasn't your fault but it doesn't make it seem like I'm not redeemable enough for you to want to try again. That way people don't get suspicious of you for not telling them about me or start to question your judgement. We could say I haven't talked to you since so you never brought it up. It could work in both our favors."

It was believable and close enough to the truth; nobody would suspect it was made up. It would most certainly make Glenn and Maggie's job easier. He couldn't find any immediate flaws so he agreed.

Clearing his throat, he asked the question he was sure she'd get asked, "So why are you back?"

"I want to try us again."

"Why?"

His searching gaze almost made her believe that she owed him an explanation for something that never happened. She licked her lips, carefully choosing her words. "It was a mistake. You're a good man and you didn't deserve what I did to you. I want to make it up to you."

A pang of some unrecognizable emotion shot through his gut. She'd somehow managed to say the exact words he had longed to hear years ago. And judging by her mildly startled features, they must have been words she'd meant to say a lifetime ago.

Brushing away the guilt that edged into her heart, she reminded herself this had nothing to do with Mike. The life they had lived together couldn't compare to this arrangement. Still, this was going to uncover feelings and emotions she'd kept under lock and key for the past year. That much was obvious.

Now that they had something to say when people asked why they got back together, she needed to know what was he going to say when people asked why he'd forgiven her. She fidgeted with her near empty cup. "So why are you giving us a second chance?"

He gazed into her guarded eyes as she braced herself for his answer. He spoke a truth that he wasn't sure if it applied to them or some unresolved past, "It was never over for me."

Though the intensity nearly vibrated off of him, she forced herself to remember his words weren't actually meant for her. This wasn't real.

She took a sobering breath, shifting in her seat. "Looks like we've got this figured out then. Should we tell Glenn and Maggie?"

"I'll talk to them."

He stood, putting distance between him and the rush of emotions their confessions had brought about. He grabbed their empty cups, making his way to the trash can.

"What about the physical part?" She pondered aloud, suddenly realizing there would be an audience. A bond didn't matter if they couldn't sell it and selling it would require a certain level of physical interaction, even if they were technically divorced.

He froze, the fantasy of being able to get physical with her rendering him confused yet cautiously optimistic. "Physical part?"

She deeply inhaled, her eyelashes fluttering. The thought of them having to show public displays of affection made her heart race but she needed to know where he stood. "You know, being a couple in public – touching, kissing – what do you think?"

After taking a moment to make certain she wasn't screwing around, he swallowed thickly. He couldn't outright tell her he was perfectly fine with having all the benefits of a physical relationship with her. Though, his eyes betrayed him as they darted down to her tempting lips then flitted back to her curious gaze. He didn't think she realized just how attractive she was to him. Opening the gates to a physical relationship could quickly turn this fictitious relationship into something more complicated, something real. It would make things even more dangerous.

He looked away, scratching the back of his head uneasily. Even without the physical part, this growing relationship between them had already shown signs of a budding realness he hadn't intended to nurture. If he had anymore say in this, they'd both end up confused and hurt by the end of it.

"I-I don't think that decision is mine to make," he carefully replied, hoping she'd set the boundaries that would keep him from screwing things up.

He was being chivalrous, probably the southern gentleman in him, but she wanted the truth. She wanted to know if she should expect him to lay one on her in front of people. It was something she'd have to mentally prepare for.

She considered his words before promptly replying, "It's a decision we both have to make, preferably before it happens, _if_ it happens."

He nodded, tapping his fingers against his hip. In past assignments, he avoided getting romantically or sexually involved. One, because being an agent wasn't like how it was in the movies. Agents didn't go around sleeping with the whole world to complete assignments. It was about being analytical, cunning, and prepared. Relationships, even one-night stands, had the potential to put entire missions at risk.

Which led to his second reason: never in his life had he suggested something so reckless. _A fake marriage?_ What in the hell was he thinking? Or maybe he wasn't. In fact, it was so completely against his nature, he wondered if he had finally lost his mind. Murmurs about agents who had lost touch with reality made their way around the agency but he didn't put much stock into it until he met Michonne Anthony.

When she looked at him with her doe eyes and her full, heart-shaped lips begging to be tasted, like she was now, he truly believed anything was possible. It was a state-of-mind that would surely get them both in trouble.

 _No, stay focused_ , he reprimanded himself. She was his responsibility now. He couldn't get caught up in his urges. He swallowed thickly, relinquishing his control. "I'm good with anythin'." It was better for everyone if she just called the shots.

Seeing his resistance to draw the line in the sand, she reluctantly made the decision for them. "Okay, we'll just…we'll do whatever comes natural."

 _Natural_ , he could work with that, forcing his thoughts to resist going down a path of naturally arousing fantasies.

Training her focus on the future, she resolved to make this work. They had a long road ahead of them and they'd only taken the first step in a grueling marathon of deceit. There was no going back. Their partnership would get them through the worst of it. She just needed to start trusting him. It was an ironic thought, as she studied his every move expecting him to turn on her any second.

She shook her head of the invasive distrust, assertively asking, "So what next?"

Now that the details were established, he needed to ensure that the world knew Rick Grimes had a wife and it would be cold day in hell before he let something happen to her. It was time to step into his role of husband and protector.

The subtle wrinkles around his eyes crinkled in amusement, feeling more than ready to take on the mission. "Now," he paused, glancing up at her roguishly, "now it's time for a proper introduction, Ms. Michelle Harrison-Grimes. We leave in thirty minutes."

* * *

 _ **Ta-da! Update!**_

 _ **Hope you're liking the s…l…o…w…burn. I'm trying to develop this relationship and what better way than to form a strong-as-hell bond through the baring of their souls. I love seeing them talk. I love writing them talk. So yeah, expect a bit more of that. :)**_

 _ **Earlier, there was a lovely review asking about why Rick was CIA and not FBI. Hopefully, this chapter answered that. Being that Rick is on assignment in a border town, he needs to be able to move in between two countries without having to worry about jurisdictions, on top of the fact that he's still a badass who's gonna kill people once in a while. I'm no expert on CIA/FBI stuff but based on my limited knowledge, CIA made the most sense.**_

 ** _Also, I know I haven't updated in a while but while I was doing some research on cartels, I discovered that the parallels between my story and what's actually happening in El Paso/Juarez are eerily similar. I thought the premise of my story was fiction just built upon the little I knew about Juarez but it's something that's actually taking place (even the cartel name is similar to the one I made up). Because of this, I want to do this story justice. It's not just about Richonne anymore; it's about writing responsibly._**

 ** _Given the reality of this situation, given that I am Mexican American, given the current state of my people in this country, I have to be intentional with my writing. So it will take time to update this story but I want to be mindful of the social/political situation we're going through whilst providing you with a quality Richonne story._**

 _ **Anyway, I wanted to say thank you to each and every one of you who continue to show this story support. This fandom leaves the most beautiful comments. It's one of the best compensations I've ever received. I truly appreciate it from the bottom, top, side, and left ventricle of my heart.**_

 _ **You are amazing and I am ever so grateful. Looking forward to hearing from you again!**_

 _ **Your anxiously-awaiting-Season-8-writer,**_

 _ **semul**_


	7. Hot as a Two-Dollar Pistol

Ding!

The elevator doors swooshed open. Michonne flinched, her nerves on edge.

"You ready?"

She glanced at the transformed man next to her. He wore his crisp uniform with his curls tamed, a dark yet flattering scruff defining his impeccable jawline. His neat style boosted the air of authority that always followed him.

She squared her shoulders and smoothed her hands down the front of her modest, cobalt blue dress. _I can do this_. She blew out a controlled breath and nodded.

Rick gently laid his hand on the small of her back and led her out to the floor that was humming with the noises of an efficient hive of workers, all striving to achieve a common goal. It reminded her of the busy office back home. A smile pulled at the edges of her mouth. Though she was a stranger to this place, she was in her element.

At first, the hesitant couple went overlooked until a few paused to do a double take. It wasn't every day their boss showed up with a stunning, dreadlocked woman by his side – or any woman for that matter.

Nerves coursed through her as people stared, their curiosities piqued. She held her head high and embraced the attention, though her body tensed at being the center of it.

Sensing a slight resistance, Rick peeked over at her. Her unease began to stiffen her movements, slowing her pace. He reached for her hand and entwined their fingers as if it were the most natural thing for them to do. She faltered at his bold move. He reassured her with a half-smile, hoping she felt the confidence she needed to face her new reality.

She glanced down at their hands, his gold ring glinting at her, momentarily adding to the intimidation constricting her throat. He gently squeezed her hand, a simple gesture provoking a sense of assuredness to quickly bloom inside her. They were in this together. It was time to play her part.

A hesitant smile flickered at her lips, her confidence growing with each step. She could do this. She felt his thumb gently rub against her in acknowledgement, as if he were in agreement.

"Rick?"

The squeak of the bewildered female voice behind them brought them to an abrupt stop. The pained expression on his face puzzled her. Before she could determine who had inspired it, a woman stepped in front of them.

Judging by her lack of uniform and soft appearance, the blonde was some sort of an assistant. Flyaway wisps of hair poked out from the messy ponytail that revealed her rounded cheeks. At first glance, she appeared fairly young but the tired lines around her eyes exposed her real age. It was easy to deduce that she led a stressful life.

The woman's critical eyes scanned Michonne in suspicion. Unimpressed by her standoffish conduct, Michonne merely arched her eyebrow, awaiting an introduction.

"Jessie," Rick exhaled, doing his best to appear well-mannered.

"Good morning," she eyed their interlaced fingers before clearing her throat and extending her hand toward Michonne in a forced sunny disposition, "Hi, I'm Jessie Anderson."

"Jessie is the Administrative Assistant to Chief Phillip Blake," he clarified.

A knowing smile lit up Michonne's face. So this was the woman with a treasure-trove of information that could take down Blake?

It was kismet; it had to be. If she could get on this woman's good side, she could get this story hammered out in a matter of days. The excitement leapt inside her like a spring of eagerness. She just needed to win her over long enough to get the details that confirmed the theories she'd formulated on Blake.

But as Michonne's smile grew wider, the woman's frown grew deeper. Recognizing the green-eyed spark, she realized there was a glaring problem to her plan: this woman was into Rick. Like _really_ into Rick. She could practically see the jealousy radiate off her.

She ignored the unfamiliar emotion simmering inside her and glanced at the object of this woman's affection. Unfortunately, Rick was only giving off vibes of discomfort. She couldn't tell if there was any reciprocating going on or if there was a history between the two.

Michonne was never one to play games when it came to relationships. She never understood the reasoning behind not being straightforward and honest about intentions. Either you were or you weren't. It was a waste of time stringing people along or being strung along with no clear purpose in mind.

It appeared things didn't work that way down here in El Paso.

She examined the woman's pinched face, assessing whether this was of Rick's making or of her own but then she stopped. Honestly, it didn't matter to her either way. It truly wasn't any of her business, even if she was his make-believe wife.

Swallowing down the disagreeing unease, she turned on the charm and warmly accepted her handshake, intentionally releasing her grip on Rick. "It's great to meet you, Ms. Anderson. My name is Michelle Harrison. I love your jacket, by the way. Very chic."

Jessie unsurely tugged at her simple jacket with a small smile. "Oh, thanks. I got it on sale."

"Well, you'd definitely give Brooks Brothers a run for their money. It actually looks like something from this season's collection. Those seams…just gorgeous. And those hems are absolutely flawless."

She hoped to God the bullshit she was making up made it seem like she knew what she was talking about. She covered up her ignorance with a sincere smile.

Eating up the compliment, the smiling blonde nodded. "Thanks."

Rick sucked on the inside of his cheeks. Michonne was a skilled chameleon, capable of making the perfect first impression in any situation. It was fascinating to witness. She could turn on the charm, crack open a person, and pull them out their shell with unsettling ease. Though, he felt a bit smug remembering their first meeting when she had been anything but charming.

He proudly rested his hand on the small of her back. "Jessie, this is my wife, Michelle."

The smile immediately fell from the blonde's hopeful face. Flustered by the news, she attempted to congratulate them. "Wow, that's…wow. I had no idea you were engaged, Rick. Congratulations."

 _Damn it._ Michonne nearly winced at the meager attempt the woman was making to hold back her disillusion. She quickly went into damage control. She couldn't lose this chance to befriend a potential source.

"We're divorced actually," she said with a tight smile, tactfully stepping away from him, "Just stopping by to visit."

Rick's smile fell, curious as to why she was distancing herself from him, both verbally and physically. They were supposed to make this believable. He blinked at her questioningly yet she avoided his gaze.

Jessie flashed her eyes at the jewelry on their fingers, emphatically doubtful of Michonne's claim. "Well, you've got the rings that say otherwise."

Sensing her chance to get closer to the ever-elusive Phillip Blake slipping away, Michonne frantically considered the options she had to save this first-impression. "Oh," she tried to laugh it off, "to be perfectly honest, this was my idea. Rick's just going along with it to get me off his back."

Rick narrowed his eyes. He wasn't sure what she was gaining by denying the entire setup they had agreed to but it was starting to irritate him. He didn't sign up to be denied or dismissed, he signed up to be her husband. Though, as her husband, he needed to trust her. Whatever she was trying to do, he knew he'd be better off if he kept his mouth shut and let her do her thing, as impossible as it was proving to be.

Jessie must have detected his displeasure because she eyed him suspiciously. "Really? I've never known Rick to go along with something just to get someone off his back."

The doors began to shut on her opportunity, her lies stacking up against her. Michonne swallowed back her panic. Her impulsivity had boxed her in to a corner. He had an established identity, his story was solid. And though he'd told her a lot, it wasn't everything.

He cleared his throat, stepping in. "We're workin' through some things still." He reached for her hand, firmly entwining their fingers again. "But we're figurin' it out. Together."

Michonne searched his eyes, her composure quickly returning. He wanted her to slow down: she could read it in his eyes. She imperceptibly nodded. She had jumped in, head first, when this situation called for careful wading. She'd been too eager.

She tried to backtrack, echoing his words, "It is a lot we have to work through but we are trying. And I'm just starting to get used to it."

Jessie nodded, puzzled by the interaction. "Well, I hope it works out for y'all."

Rick nodded, now eased by Michonne's ability to pick up on his silent concern.

"I've gotta go." The blonde awkwardly walked away. "Congratulations, again."

They both assented, their hands still entwined. Once she'd disappeared from view, Rick lowered his voice. "You okay?"

Michonne heaved a sigh. There were times in her life when things went wrong. It wasn't often but when they did, it was important to admit to it. It was the only way to grow.

"I was trying to get an in. Didn't work out like I thought," she admitted reluctantly, hoping he wasn't the kind to gloat.

Surprised by her admission, he quirked his eyebrows and slightly tilted his head in contemplation. She was right but he took no pleasure in it. She was adjusting to a new world, it would take time.

His silence confused her. He wasn't upset or smug, he was almost empathetic. She was expecting more of a reproachful attitude. She was, after all, encroaching on a CIA operative's territory.

Disbelieving of his nonchalant attitude, she further admitted to her folly, curious to see how far she'd have to go to get a more expected reaction, "I really blew it."

He squinted in consideration, still unwilling to openly agree with her. "Maybe."

She side-eyed him, his resistance to fault her beginning to amuse her. "Nothing about that went well."

A small smile twitched at his mouth. Whatever punishment or reprimand she was seeking wasn't going to come from him. He had no interest in making things harder between them.

He shrugged. "Maybe."

She arched her brow. He wasn't going to satisfy her assumptions. The low expectations she had of him were swiftly being thrown out the window.

Studying him once again, she arched her brow. "Mr. Eloquence here," she finally muttered in amusement.

Picking up on her teasing, he laughed almost shyly, playfully fidgeting with her hand. "Maybe."

In that moment, a slight flutter filled their chests. Their first moment as an official couple wasn't a hit but it was how they handled the aftermath together that spoke volumes. Though they were still virtual strangers, their understanding of each other was reaching new and unexpected heights.

For him, it was a relief to finally have somebody he could depend on to give him support and gift him with a different perspective. It wasn't without its intricacies but it was different, different from any of his other partnerships. This whole thing working out for the both of them wasn't such a farfetched idea anymore. He gently tugged at her hand and led her into his office.

She, on the other hand, was still wrapping her mind around it all.

She appreciated his decision to withhold judgement and not criticize her mistake. He could've chewed her out or probably even called the whole thing off. She'd had her fair share of working with men and more often than not, they enjoyed being right. In a situation like this, a man in his position would've taken the opportunity to point out how unprepared she was for all of this, poking at her insecurities, pushing her to question herself. But Rick didn't.

It was as if he had changed overnight. She didn't perceive the tension he'd shown when interrogating her. She didn't even pick up on the annoyed attitude he had when she showed up on his doorstep. It was almost as if he had fully accepted that she'd turned his mission on its head. He was on her side and was willing to help her.

It was...strange.

She was used to fighting against the worst of odds, impossible barriers that refused to budge. But his shell was cracking at such an impressive rate, she was afraid of what it would reveal. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face the fact that the moment he shed his armor, hers would follow.

And on that note, her uncanny ability to self-sabotage reared its ugly head.

She became fully aware that she was in his world now. She needed to play her part if she expected to get anything out of it. This was probably the reason behind his sudden attitude adjustment. He was probably just marking his territory, letting her know that she wasn't as in control of things as she thought.

The notion of him thinking he had full control enraged her. He probably enjoyed watching her dig her own hole. Well, if that was the case, he had another thing coming.

She slipped her hand out of his, the unwarranted anger twisting inside her. She tightly clasped her hands behind her back and wandered around his office. "So how long has Miss Anderson had a thing for you?"

He froze. The shift in her mood was palpable. A hard wall had fallen between them once again. He sighed resignedly. He knew it couldn't last forever.

As for the ever delusional Miss Jessie Anderson, he had done his best to avoid playing into the obvious feelings the blonde held. He'd ignored all her advances and politely declined all the offers she'd made to get to know each other since his arrival.

He had never been the type to lead someone on and Jessie was the last woman in the world he'd ever want to lead on. She was complicated, it practically radiated from every pore. His life was complicated enough without having to add a clingy coworker to the mix.

Even then, it appeared that it wasn't enough to put an end toward her attraction to him, an aspect of his work life he'd hoped Michonne wouldn't pick up on. Unfortunately, the law of averages had decided to conspire against him.

In the hopes of returning to that moment of trust they'd just shared, he feigned ignorance.

Arranging some papers on his desk, he answered disinterestedly, "I don't know what you mean."

She seriously doubted he was that oblivious to his coworker's clear attraction to him. She tilted her head, squinting dubiously. "Come on."

He reluctantly gave in to her accurate accusation with a shrug. "I didn't notice."

"Mm-hmm," she murmured doubtfully, crossing her arms.

He paused. This was new. If he were a bystander to this conversation, he would have certainly interpreted her probing as a show of possessiveness, jealousy even.

He'd experienced jealousy with a dose of heartbreak when he'd caught Lori and Shane but this, this was nothing like that. This beautiful, intelligent, talented woman huffing about his office was insecure about his relationship with his coworker. She had no reason to be and yet she was jealous.

A passionate urge ignited inside him. He couldn't have her doubting his loyalty, even if this was supposed to be a ruse. Those doubts invading her mind needed to be extinguished.

Unable to help himself, he swaggered around the desk and positioned himself in front of her, trapping her between him and his desk. He was near enough to see the widened irises of her dark eyes.

She took a step back, bumping into the desk. The last thing she'd expected was a confrontation. Yet here they were, toe-to-toe inside his fishbowl of an office, her personal space being thoroughly violated. The intense energy rolling off him did nothing to ease her concern.

He tilted his head slightly. "You jealous?"

The bewilderment in her eyes quickly shifted into irritation. He was playing with her. Though, the lack of a smile made her quickly rethink her assumption. Maybe he wasn't playing. Her heart sped up, adrenaline pumping through her veins.

She covered up her breathlessness at his proximity, lifting her chin high and holding her ground. "Should I be?"

He took a step closer, his gaze unashamedly traveling down to her lips, her chest, and back up again. Hunger glinted in his eyes. "Are you?"

She studied him, their intense stare-down drowning out everything else. She felt a pull, drawing her closer to him. She could already imagine his hard body against hers, his lips making her sing in pleasure. It was almost too much. She wanted him. She wanted him in his office, against the desk, in plain view of all these strangers. She wanted him so badly a whimper nearly escaped her parted lips.

If it wasn't for the throat clearing coming from the doorway, she was certain she would have committed an indiscretion. Luckily, the noise was enough to break the trance.

They pulled away awkwardly. At least she did in an attempt to regain some composure. Rick simply looked annoyed at the interruption.

Two men were staring at them, one with a knowing smile and the other with a distrustful glare. The officer she'd met a few days ago broke the tense silence with a cheery greeting, "You're Michelle, right?

Still composing herself, she nodded with a tight smile. "Nice to see you again, Officer Rovia." She half-waved in his direction, still blocked in by Rick's unmoving presence.

"Please, my friends call me Jesus." He smiled humbly but the man next to him continued glowering at her.

Deciding to introduce her properly, Rick stepped to the side to present her to his colleagues. "Jesus, Daryl, this is Michelle, my wife."

Daryl narrowed his eyes. Jesus widened his eyes, verbalizing his surprise, "Oh wow, I had no idea you were married."

"I was…," Rick closed his eyes, quickly correcting himself, "...am. We're tryin' – again."

Jesus nodded in slow understanding. "So the whole foundation thing?"

Michonne swiftly explained, "My sad excuse to see Rick again."

Jesus nodded with an impressed smile. "Well, I'd say more believable than sad. So you guys haven't seen each other in a while then?"

Rick nodded, locking eyes with her, adding another detail to their carefully constructed story. "A few years but we've been talkin'; writin' each other for a few months."

"Oh, so this is a surprise visit?"

The man next to him finally grunted his displeasure at being left out of the loop. "Hmm, surprise."

Michonne evenly stared at the glowering man. Smiles and small talk wouldn't work with this one. She tested out the waters. "Rick's already told me so much about you two."

That was a lie. He'd only mentioned being careful around his partner because he was good at sniffing out lies. He never mentioned that he looked like he was straight out of a biker gang.

"Yeah? Well, we haven't heard anything about you," he rasped out, his voice sharp with resentment.

"Daryl," Rick warned. He didn't like the tone his partner had taken with her but before he could step in, Michonne spoke up.

"I imagine not. Rick and I, we…we didn't end on a very good note."

"Yeah, what note's that?"

Michonne bit back the need to put the man in his place. If Andrea were here, she wouldn't have hesitated. Thankfully, Andrea wasn't here. Instead, she steeled herself, careful to not burn any bridges. "I wanted a career so I left. I thought it was best if he lived his life without any resentments."

The shaggy-haired man scoffed as if he had the right to judge her.

"Daryl," Rick warned again in a threatening voice.

Ignoring his partner, Daryl continued pressing, "Yeah? And how does he know you won't do it again?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. She understood his overprotectiveness but she wouldn't stand for anyone calling her character into question, even if she was playing a part.

"I'm done taking breaks," she stated firmly and without hesitation, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Rick and Jesus remained silent, awaiting Daryl's response, ready to jump in if necessary.

The shaggy-haired man considered her firm response before plainly stating, "Rick's a good guy."

She picked up on the unsaid words. Rick was a good guy and didn't deserve to be mistreated, especially by the woman he chose as his wife. She couldn't agree more but kept her answer as succinct as possible. "He is."

He watched her for a moment as if to detect any sign of a lie. Satisfied by her words and demeanor, he grunted in response, their brief clash ending in an unspoken understanding.

Jesus eyed Daryl, carefully bringing an end to their visit. "Well, it was very nice meeting you, Michelle. We just stopped by to say hi but we'll see you around."

She nodded. "See you, too."

Once they'd left, she blinked and let out a slow breath. The reality of what she'd stepped into was becoming clear. She really was in his world now, a world where Rick Grimes was a leader with loyal friends, the object of a woman's desire, and now her husband.

He carefully eyed her. "At least the hard part's over."

She remained silent. His words weren't true. Standing up for herself in front of complete strangers was a small victory. This wasn't over, not by a long shot.

This was more than just pulling one over on people. These were real people they were manipulating. And where there were people, real danger and real emotions followed.

The numbness she'd held on to for the past year was finally falling away. It was inopportune but opening up was something she needed to do in order to pull this off. Thankfully, it was with someone she trusted, even if he had his own motives for this arrangement.

A halfhearted smile twitched at her lips. She couldn't tell him they hadn't reached the hard part; that things weren't going to get easier.

She just quietly agreed, though the words fell unnaturally from her tongue, "Yeah, hard part's over."

He nodded, doubt gnawing at him. It was easier to believe her than to force her to reveal her hesitancy. She'd share when she was ready.

"Alright then." He nodded in acceptance, his fingers fidgeting on his hips. "Let me give you the tour."

He showed her around his small and sparsely decorated office. He showed her the ins and outs of accessing his computer and office phone. He pointed out where the bathroom, copy machine, and break room were located. He advised her on who to avoid and who to ask for certain things. He told her she needed to sign a few forms but her desk was ready, she'd just need to get her temporary office assistant ID badge before she settled in.

The last part nearly slipped past her. Nearly.

"What?" Scowling at him as if he'd lost his mind.

He paused peering around his office unsurely. "Well, you can't come and go as you please without clearance." He shifted his stance and tilted his head, "I thought that was implied."

She blinked at him incredulously. "No."

How could that have been implied? How the hell was she supposed to assume that she'd have to pretend to be married to him _and_ work for him in order for her to get what she needed? This was not part of the plan. Though, her outrage didn't appear to register with him. He simply blinked at her.

More insistently, she maintained, "No."

He raised his eyebrow, unsure of why she was so against the idea.

"No," she repeated more firmly widening her eyes for emphasis.

He sighed. "Michonne, I can't give you everything you need if you're just my wife. That part just gives you credibility. It keeps you safe. But here, you need to move around, get to know people, see what you can see."

"I am an editorial journalist, Rick, not an undercover agent," she reminded him, her lips pursed in annoyance.

He lowered his voice, moving closer to her to keep the conversation between them. "I know that but this isn't gonna work if you're not here."

She huffed in irritation. As upset as she was, she let his assertion ruminate in her mind.

As his assistant, she could track his every move and everybody else's. She could follow all the leads she liked. She'd be in control. This was all on top of the fact that it helped with their getting-to-know-each-other-as-spouses angle. It was the smart move. The least she could do was try.

She exhaled resignedly, defeated by her own logic. "I'm not fetching you coffee or your dry cleaning," she muttered, eyeing him.

He tried not to smile at her adorable pout, resting his hands on her arms, rubbing them soothingly. "I can get my own coffee and I've never dry cleaned anything in my life."

She silently scrutinized him.

He continued persuading her, "I promise I won't make you fetch anything for me. Just tell me when I need to go and where I need to be. That's all."

Pausing to eye him distrustfully, she nodded unenthusiastically. He continued rubbing her arms, a gentle expression softening his features. The sigh she wanted to let out dissipated when she blinked up at him, her heart suddenly loud in her ears.

He wasn't accustomed to holding a woman in his office yet it didn't stop him from gently stroking her arms with his thumbs. It was hypnotizing. He melted in her big, dark stare. Their proximity dizzied him. He glanced down at her lips and softly breathed his gratitude, "Thank you."

The tension from earlier returned with a vengeance. He wanted to kiss her. No, he needed to kiss her. Restraining himself from succumbing to the pull he felt was beginning to resemble an exercise in futility. It almost felt ridiculous pretending that this wasn't leading to something more than they planned. The hardening bulge in his pants agreed, a state that hadn't truly diminished upon first seeing her in that blue dress that emphasized her perfectly sculpted body.

Just as their faces neared each other, a knock at the door startled them both.

"Rick, the meeting's about to start."

He inhaled sharply, holding back an expletive, and quickly took a step back. A young woman stood in the doorway, smirking at them. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, doing his best to hide his palpable arousal. "Rosita, hey."

"Hi," she chirped out knowingly.

He stuttered out an introduction, "This is, uh, Michelle Harrison."

A coy grin appeared on her face as she crossed her arms. "Por fin. Does this mean I can stop doing all this extra work for free?"

He laughed uneasily, the moment dissipating. He turned to explain the situation to Michonne. "Rosita's been handlin' my affairs since they left me in charge. She's helped me hold things down around here with all the schedulin' and paperwork. I called her this mornin' to let her know you were replacing her."

"Rosita Espinosa," she said with flourish, reaching out to firmly shake her hand.

Still reeling from their near kiss and slightly put out by Rick's confidence that he knew she would accept the position as his assistant, Michonne distractedly extended her hand. "Micho-Michelle Harrison, nice to meet you."

They cordially shook hands then Rosita lifted her chin toward Rick. "So you married this guy, huh?"

"I did."

Impressed, she arched her brow at her boss. "Damn, you never told me your wife was out of your league."

Rick gave the young officer an admonishing smile, amused by her accurate comment and grateful for the break in the tension.

Rosita gently nudged him. "I'm just messing with you. It was really nice to meet you, Mrs. Grimes." She reached out to shake her hand again. "We're looking forward to having you on board. But right now, we gotta go. Staff meeting," she reminded her boss.

He nodded earnestly but turned to confirm with her. "Will you be alright for a few minutes?"

Puzzled by his concern, she answered slowly, "Yeah, I'll be alright."

He searched her eyes. He'd put a lot on her. He wouldn't blame her if she ran away at the first chance of escape. Though, she wouldn't make it far if she tried.

Hoping she'd still be there when he returned, he prompted her, "If you need anything, text me."

"I will."

He felt tongue tied. Their interrupted moments were still in the air. He wasn't sure where all this tension was coming from but it was more than palpable. If they weren't careful, it would start punctuating all their interactions.

And if he wasn't careful, he'd cross a line he wouldn't be able to uncross.

Rosita interrupted his concentration, his stare nearly igniting the whole office. "Híjole, Rick, you can snack on your wife later, let's go." The young officer walked out of his office, knowing full well what she'd provoked.

His face flushed at her insinuation as he quickly stepped away. _Was it that obvious?_ Refusing to meet his wife's gaze, he nodded in her direction before striding out of his office.

Michonne narrowed her eyes at his odd behavior before shaking off the unease that had settled in her shoulders. Arousal and apprehension were not a good combination to incite in the workplace. She had to focus. She was on assignment, she couldn't get distracted. She took a deep breath and focused her thinking. She turned to his desk, trying to decide what she should do first.

She cautiously walked around to sit in his chair. She adjusted herself to the roomy seat and turned to his computer. She jiggled the mouse, the desktop appearing before her. Scanning around the office through the glass walls, she subtly stuck a USB drive into the computer. Pretending to swipe through her phone, she leaned forward and started dragging folders to her files that seemed important.

She came across one named Woodbury. She opened the most recent report.

 _Thursday, June 15_ _th_ _, 4:52 AM. Homicide. Neil Gargulio. Age 21. American. Employed by Miraflores Imports Truck Driving. Possible ties to La Leña. Shot fired within a residency on the outskirts of Ciudad Juarez. Close range single gunshot to the head. Evidence of assault. No prints were found. Car with American license plates seen fleeing the scene. No possible suspects._

Pushing down the familiar sick feeling at imagining the sheer brutality of the crime, she dragged the file into her drive. It was an execution, the first real sign of cartel violence that could potentially be linked back to Blake. Rick had known about this since this morning. Why would he not tell her about this?

She sat back in the chair. Disappointment was just one of the many words she would use to describe her current state of mind. She thought they were on the same page. She thought he trusted her as much as she trusted him. She ignored the sharp stab of betrayal in her chest. There was no reason to feel betrayed. This was an assignment, something she couldn't take personally.

She closed her eyes in acceptance. This was a job – her job – and if Rick wasn't going to help her, she would get it done herself.

* * *

 _ **Hello again! Apologies for the long wait. I hope y'all are doing great!**_

 _ **Sooo, I know this is definitely living up to the slow burn mentioned in the description of this story. I can't imagine your frustration with these two (yes I can). But trust me when I tell you, it will all be worth it.**_

 _ **There's still some getting to know each other before we get to the real reason as to why this is rated M. And I hate to tease you with it but I've already started working on that scene and these two...just...damn. We're definitely going to experience a nearly unbearable, tension-filled buildup in the next few chapters (at least if I can stick with my outline). But, like I said, it will be worth it. ;)**_

 _ **As always, thank you to my beta, michonnesburnham on Tumblr for being amazing and helping me out with editing.**_

 _ **And a big, big thank you to everyone who has urged me to continue with this story. Your kind words of love and patience mean everything to me. A special shout out to those of you who have PM'd me to offer support and encouragement. It truly touches my heart that I get to experience the thoughtfulness and kindness of the Richonne fandom when I need it most. It's truly a beautiful thing we have here.**_

 _ **Anyway, let me know what you think, what you're looking forward to this year, how you're handling the current season of TWD, just anything really. I love reading your comments, they bring light to my life.**_

 _ **Best wishes on this coming year. May 2018 bring you all the love and happiness you lovely readers deserve. Happy New Year!**_

 _ **Your optimistic writer,**_

 _ **semul**_


	8. Put On Your Sitting Britches

An abrupt knock at Michonne's bedroom door startled her from her typing. She paused her music.

It was him. It couldn't be anyone else but him. She contemplated pretending to have not heard the knock. The thought of having to face the person she'd been avoiding all day was as appealing as getting up from her warm spot on the bed.

Though, at this point, any distraction was a welcome one.

The article was a bust. Even with all the documents she'd sifted through on her USB, she had nothing. It made sense why Rick allowed her access. He'd found nothing substantial in months – or at least nothing substantial to report.

Unfortunately, she found as much as he did, if not less. Her highly-anticipated article consisted of two and half miserable sentences about the weather and a sardonic comment about the efficiency of customs and border protection. She was too embarrassed to even consider sending it to Carol to revise.

She needed to write something and soon. Her patience was wearing thin.

For now, she'd take what she could, starting with this visit.

The warmth of the laptop faded from her legs as she shut it and placed it next to her on the bed. She stretched her stiff limbs, her frustration blowing away with a huff. Taking a moment to compose herself, she cracked the door open.

Her roommate stood in the shadows, his back toward her, his head dipped as he pinched his full bottom lip. It was a gesture she was beginning to recognize as a nervous tick. He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice her. _A mercy,_ she decided as her eyes began to roam.

He looked good, even in a t-shirt and jeans. His now familiar scent rolled off of him, enticing her. She blinked, biting her bottom lip, her eyes sliding up to his curls. Why did he have to have curls? Of all the hairstyles in the world, he had to wear the one that always managed to break down her defenses. Once again, it took all her willpower to resist testing their softness with her fingers.

Before she did something she'd regret, she shook off the surge of desire and opened the door ajar. "Rick?"

Startled from his thoughts, he stared up at her.

Michonne was a gorgeous woman, it was undeniable. But the way she looked, standing in her bedroom doorway, jolted life into his entire being. She filled out a pair of lounging shorts like nobody's business. Her loose-fitting, cropped t-shirt revealed a hint of her toned abs, making him blush. Yes, she was gorgeous but right now, she was damn near irresistible.

Clearing his throat, he forced his eyes to look down at the patch of floor near her manicured bare feet. "You busy? I can come back later." He peeked up at her.

She'd avoided him since yesterday when he convinced her to be his assistant. He didn't blame her. Hell, he'd be pissed if someone had pulled something like that on him. Although, that wasn't the only reason she was upset with him: she found out about Gargulio. Maggie was keeping a close surveillance on her since that morning. She'd immediately texted him about the files she'd opened on his computer.

He should've known she would find out. He reneged on his oath to keep her in the loop. As expected, it drove a passive aggressive wedge between them – a wedge he was on a mission to eliminate. And judging by her stoic expression, he wasn't off to a great start.

Michonne sensed the guilty purpose of his visit emanating from him. He looked like a stray standing at her doorstep, cautiously sniffing for a hint of mercy. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't upset with him, though she came to realize the logic behind his actions. He kept information from her. What else could she expect from a government agent?

Though, it appeared that he was ready to come clean. She held back a smile. For being an agent, Rick Grimes was easy to read – almost too easy.

Holding back her comments on his lack of a poker face, she set a neutral expression. "I'm not too busy." She stepped back, wordlessly inviting him in.

He nodded effusively as he took a step closer, his hands jittery with nerves. "I, uh, I wanted to apologize for springing that job on you."

She rested her head against the door and quirked her eyebrows, gazing down at his black jeans and black socks. She'd almost forgotten. Though she didn't mind having a job to distract her, it would have been nice to have a heads up. At least today she went into the office feeling more prepared. Though that confidence had done little to mend the recent strain between the two of them.

Rick studied her. Aside from her clothing choice, she looked anything but relaxed. The creases between her brows and downturned mouth reassured him of that.

He fucked up. He knew it the moment he walked back into his office after his meeting. She'd done enough by agreeing to marry him and move into his house. Expecting her to work as his assistant was pushing things too far. It was why he waited until she had no choice but to accept.

It was a cowardly move on his part but one that was less complicated than giving her the chance to reject it. He was lucky she hadn't packed her things and told him to fuck off that very moment. He was lucky she wasn't telling him to fuck off right now.

When she remained silent, he continued explaining himself, "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to talk me out of it."

She squinted at him.

"You could've." He nodded assuredly.

She tilted her head. "You think I'd refuse?"

He shrugged. "Most people would."

"Rick," she closed her eyes, seeking patience, "I'm here on assignment, I'm not here to play games with you. We agreed to work together and that's what we're going to do."

He scraped his bottom lip against his teeth, pondering why the thought of her referring to them as "we" made his ego inflate like a hot air balloon. He knew he didn't deserve her reassurance but it felt good to have it.

Quelling his elation, he finally nodded in agreement. "Okay." Giving her an even stare, he communicated his sincere remorse for acting like an ass. "I'm sorry."

The tension that had been building up since yesterday fell from her shoulders. There was no point in remaining upset. She could only reiterate her earlier point, "We're in this together. Both of us."

He nodded, gazing down with a softened expression. "Yeah." He looked up at her in determination. "We are."

The silence between them reaffirmed their commitment. Sensing the perfect moment to breach the topic that had plagued her mind all day, she added, "Anything else we need to clear up?"

He placed his hands on his hips, his fingers tapping against his jeans. Avoiding his duty was no longer an option. She had approached the point of no return and he would have to usher her past it. It was a daunting responsibility. It was one he wanted to take his time handling.

"Yeah. Yeah, there is something," he confirmed.

He studied her before his intense features melted away. Avoiding it wasn't an option but surely prolonging the inevitable was workable.

Making up his mind, he gave her a charming smile. "How about we eat dinner first?"

* * *

An hour later, they sat at a dimly lit dining table, their meal consumed. Enjoying a light conversation, they finished off their glasses of wine.

Michonne sat back in her chair, her stomach fully satisfied. "I had no idea you could cook." She took a sip from her glass.

Instead of claiming any culinary talent, he asked the question he was dying to ask her, "Did you like it?"

"I'd never tried chili mac n' cheese before," she admitted, amending her claim, "Together, anyway." It was a delicious combination she would never have tried on her own, a dish of Southern comfort and tastiness.

"Good?" His eyes sparkled, trying to pry out her opinion.

She gave him an unconvinced look. His face slightly fell before she broke into a wide smile. "It was the best tasting chili mac n' cheese I've ever had."

He gave her a boyish grin. Feeling nostalgic, he shared a sudden memory, "My mom used to make it for my birthday. She got the recipe off a package of noodles, way before my time. So when I left for the academy, she showed me how to make it."

"But it's not your birthday." She remarked, remembering the actual date. She arched her eyebrow. "Is it something you make often?" She glanced down at his flat stomach. If he ate this all the time, he had one hell of a metabolism.

Catching her wandering gaze, he laughed out loud. "Nah, it's too much for one person," he admitted, patting his stomach. "I only make it on occasion."

His laugh filled her with delight. "It's a good thing you balance it out with a salad then."

He tilted his head, looking away from her. "Well, when you get to be my age, eating vegetables stops being an option." His gaze settled on her, warming her body. "As does eating chili mac n' cheese by yourself."

She gave him a curious look, his last statement throwing her off.

Sensing her confusion, he winced, clarifying, "Weeks of leftovers."

She nodded in understanding, though she knew leftovers had nothing to do with his unusual declaration. She quietly drank her wine, choosing to ignore the suggestiveness of it.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. Aside from that moment of brilliance, the evening had passed by rather enjoyable. He liked spending time with her. Not only was she intelligent and clever, she was warm, kind, and funny. The more he got to know her, the more entranced he became. If she wasn't already married to him, he'd ask her out on a proper date.

He peeked up at her. Her eyelashes brushed against the delicate skin of her cheeks as she sipped from her glass. A smile twitched at his lips. Less than a week ago, this breathtaking woman blew him off in a coffee shop. Now, she was sitting in front of him, enjoying a home-cooked meal. Who could've imagined?

He could laugh at the strangeness of it. Unfortunately, there was no time for musing over the quirks of life. And though he would have liked to spend the rest of the evening getting to know her better, work came first.

He cleared his throat and stood, collecting the dishes from the table. "You have questions," he stated, not wanting to waste any more time yet eager to avoid it.

She was taken aback by his quick change of pace. She watched him as he took the dishes to the sink. He busied himself rinsing out the dishes, pots, and pans, then loading them into the dishwasher.

Sensing his reluctance to face her, she retrieved the empty glasses from the table and joined him. She quietly took the sponge and began hand-washing the glasses, softly concurring, "I do have questions."

Feeling the warmth of her body near his arm, he sucked in his cheeks before letting out a steadying breath. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she washed the fragile glasses. Once she finished, the stream of water stopped. The hum of the dishwasher and her calm demeanor filled the silence.

He took a deep breath. "Alright." He gave her a nod to proceed, passing the kitchen towel to her.

She took a moment to collect her thoughts, drying her hands on the towel. She turned to him and laid it out for him. "I read all your files. I know you've been going after La Leña and its leader, the Governor. You don't know who he is yet but he's powerful. You're thinking it could be someone in the department but you haven't officially declared anything. You're waiting for your moment because so far, every lead you've had has led to a dead end."

He studied her gaze, his silence reaffirming her analysis.

She pointedly added, "Except for this morning in Juarez."

He looked away, wondering if he was truly ready to tell her.

"What do you know about what happened to Neil Gargulio?"

His silence urged her to prod him to answer. "Rick?"

He leaned back against the counter, gripping the edge and closed his eyes. He couldn't continue lying to her, even if it was through omission.

His confession tumbled out, "Daryl, me, and a few others followed a lead a few days back. A produce truck was being used to transport drugs and guns through Juarez. Everything was in place until it wasn't."

He swallowed back the frustration that still resided in the back of his throat. "Somebody tipped 'em off. I thought I could find something if I went back to where it happened. I planned on taking a trip to Juarez to see what I could see. Then I got a tip this morning."

He eyed her, his fingers tapping nervously. "Gargulio, the driver, he was staying in Juarez, laying low. An entitled, American burnout who got in deep with the wrong people. He owed them – more than he thought. So I drove down there to talk to him, get more information, and convince him to give up some names."

She took a moment to process the information. "Did he?"

"Nah." He couldn't hold back a sneer. "Nah, he chose to say nothing but the wrong thing."

She squinted at him, unsure of what that meant.

He finally admitted the staggering truth. "He knew about you, about us."

Her heart pounded in her chest. The impact of his statement pushed her back against the counter, mimicking his stance. She crossed her arms, knitting her brow as all kinds of worst case scenarios ran through her mind.

He gauged her reaction. "He said they knew we were together. I don't know if that meant they knew about our arrangement but they know about you. The cartel, the Governor, they know."

Ice cold terror spread through her veins. She was on the radar of a very real, very dangerous cartel and their leader. She hadn't felt this kind of fear since Sierra Leone. She suppressed the panic that threatened to make her waver. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm not but it was a risk I wasn't willing to take. I increased our surveillance, had Maggie follow up on some leads. So far, nothing's out of the ordinary."

It couldn't be that uncomplicated. They were in danger now. Their anonymity was gone, possibly even their cover. The panic was beginning to set in as a sea of questions escaped her lips, "Then what happened? You went down to see this guy and he ends up dead? Did they think he was an informant? Were they watching him?"

Sensing her distress, he swallowed back the dread building inside him. "He didn't have ties with any agencies and the cartel was done with him."

She narrowed her eyes. "How do you know that?"

Unable to hide his fidgeting fingers, he pushed away from the counter. He began packing away the leftovers in the fridge, avoiding her question. "I looked into him."

She waited for an answer.

It took him a few moments to organize the containers of leftovers in the fridge. He closed the door and blinked down at the ground. "Then I killed him."

She stared at his back in silence, the impact of his words settling in her stomach.

Rasping out his revelation, he kept his gaze straight ahead. "Working in a cartel, he would have had eyes on him at all times. He didn't. He'd served his purpose. I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd already sent someone to finish him off. So I tried talking with him." He turned to look at her. "He wasn't interested."

She remained silent, still processing his words.

He took her silence as a judgment on him. Letting his frustration get the better of him, he huffed, "If it wasn't me, it would've been someone else."

A sour taste tingled on her tongue. As hard as she could, she couldn't wrap her mind around it. Rick killed someone. Plain and simple. He woke up that morning, killed a guy, went to the gym to wash away the evidence, and came home to give her a wedding ring.

How had it gotten to that point? What could have pushed him to murder someone in cold blood?

A major headache throbbed in her temples and behind her eyes. "Why?"

His jaw twitched. "It had to be done."

"That's not," she tempered her harsh tone, taking a calming breath, "That's not a reason."

He rested his hands on his hips. The tension in the room was thick. This was what he was trying to avoid.

He squeezed his eyes shut, providing his reasoning, "He wouldn't talk and the little he did, he wasted it on threats."

She blinked at him as he calmly stared back.

"He's not my first and he isn't my last. If I have to, I'll do it again."

His words were unwavering. She knew it was the truth. He wouldn't hesitate. It was his job. Yet, her thoughts were conflicted.

She understood the danger of threats. Threats had the potential to destroy, to get someone killed. She couldn't say she would have reacted the same but she couldn't say she would have reacted any differently. Murder was murder. Not allowing people to forget that was the main reason why she was still a journalist. She always stood up for what was right and fair but this situation wasn't as simple as it seemed.

Would she have done things differently if she were in Rick's exact position? She didn't know but she knew she couldn't hold it over his head.

She exhaled, resigned to accept his reality, their reality. "I know."

He gave her a look.

"Rick," she paused before carefully continuing, "You're going to do what you need to do. I know what you are and I know what that means."

He remained silent.

"I'm not here to stop you. I'm here to shine a light on the corruption that tears families apart and gets innocent people killed. I'm here to find the source of that corruption. As far as I can tell, you're not the source of it."

"I'm not."

"Good."

He paused a moment before apologizing, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"I know."

"It won't happen again," he vowed.

She nodded, accepting his promise.

Though they continued cleaning up in silence, her thoughts buzzed in her head. She could accept what was done was done but it didn't mean she was in favor of it happening again. She had to say something.

"You really didn't have a choice?"

He halted. "What?"

"Gargulio, you said it had to be done."

He set down the towel he was using to clean the counters, giving her his full attention.

"That choice, to decide if someone lives or dies, how do you make it?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You mean, eliminating threats?"

That's how. He saw them as threats. She looked down in understanding.

He sighed. "Sometimes that's the job, 'Chonne. It isn't about what's right or what's wrong; it's about who survives and what that means for everyone else left livin'."

When she glanced up at him with a neutral expression, he went on to further defend his reasoning. "Gargulio was a pawn. He was going to be sacrificed one way or another. That future was set. I just helped it along."

Her silence was unnerving. He couldn't tell if she understood or if she was judging him. Doubt finally set in. Could there ever be a good enough reason to kill someone? His uncertainty wasn't sitting well with him.

Backing himself into a corner, he lashed out, "Besides, why does it even matter? He was nobody. He meant nothing. Even the bullet that went through his head served a greater purpose than him. Why would you care?"

Noticing her body tense up, he immediately regretted his defensive tone. He wasn't upset at her: he was upset with himself.

Since she'd come into his life, he'd done a shit job of handling things. None of it was her fault but he was having a hell of a time coming to terms with the fact that he had no idea what he was doing. Being responsible for somebody else – somebody he'd grown to care about – was not his strong suit.

Before he could apologize for being harsh, she shut down any chance of him justifying himself.

She looked up at him with a pained expression, taking a breath to steady herself. After months of avoiding it, she finally revealed the reason behind her anguish.

"It's how Mike died."

Not waiting for a response, she excused herself, walking away before her emotions had a chance to overpower her.

Rick stood frozen, his heart falling to the floor. There was no way for him to have screwed up more than he had at that moment. Any chance of the night going the way he would've hoped was gone.

He closed his eyes and hung his head in shame.

"Fuck."

* * *

A few minutes later, he found her sitting in the dark, the images of the muted TV flashing in front of her. She sat cross-legged on the furthest end of the couch, hugging one of the pillows in front of her.

"Dessert's still in the fridge."

She remained silent.

"Homemade chocolate pudding. You said it was your favorite."

She continued blinking at the TV.

He sighed, wearily sitting on the other end of the couch. He scrubbed his hand over his face. Exhaustion settled in his bones. It had been a long day and it was turning into an even longer night.

He couldn't leave her like this. She needed to know he wasn't a cold-blooded killer who went around shooting people for fun. He scratched at his eye with his thumb and paused a moment before a confession spilled itself out.

"Five."

She knit her brow, her eyes sliding to his hunched over position.

"Five people in the ten years I've been an operative. Four of them were targets. Each one a terrorist in their own right."

He paused, remembering their faces. "They'd shed innocent blood, led corrupt lives, had no regret and no intentions of stopping. Each one was given a fair chance to make a change. I even gave them a second chance though I was going against my orders. And each time, they tried to kill me."

A sneer pulled at his lip, the moments invading his head. "But I killed them first."

It was easy to get overwhelmed with anger at the injustices and cruelty those men had imposed on others. They were people who were alive only because they had the money to keep themselves alive. He took a steadying breath, clearing his mind, letting go of the fury that came with their memory.

He continued his confession, "Gargulio, I sought him out myself. He had no one. No family, no friends, nobody who cared about him. It's why I thought intimidating him would be enough," he closed his eyes, reliving the moment, "but then he opened his mouth. He threatened me. He mentioned you. He threatened you."

She looked over at him, her breath short and fast. She had no idea.

His eyes hardened in resolve. "I can't…I can't take it back – I wouldn't if I could. I have to keep you safe. You're too important now." He gazed at her, honesty reflecting in his eyes.

She took a deep breath, pushing down the overwhelming emotions she was feeling. He did it to keep her safe. She didn't know how to process the idea that he was thinking of her well-being in a moment like that. She stared at him, her heart beating with an emotion she didn't want to recognize.

"Rick," she shook her head, looking down at her knees to steady herself, "I don't need you to do that. Not because of me."

He gazed at her sympathetically. He could see her fighting against her guilt but he knew that she understood. He was CIA, his job meant he couldn't take risks. He had a mission and she was part of that. His choices revolved around the both of them now. It was a responsibility he wouldn't take lightly.

He murmured, "I can't promise I won't."

She nodded, ready to reveal her story in the hopes of him understanding her request. She reluctantly released her grip on the pillow. It was time to share the burden she carried. She faced him, squaring her shoulders. Keeping her eyes closed, she relived the horrific experience that changed her life forever.

"Two years ago, Mike and I went to Sierra Leone on assignment. We were there for a few weeks, looking into the Ebola outbreak. Government officials weren't addressing the issue as effectively as they should've been. Hundreds of people, children, died. We suspected corruption but our goal was to bring attention to the issue through the people's stories. Mike would take the pictures and I would write."

She took a deep breath as everything surged forth. "One night, the village was visited by a group of uniformed men claiming to be government officials. Being that we were American journalists, we weren't welcome by the government at that time so we were told to hide. And we did, until they decided to round up a few kids."

Her face hardened. "I don't know if it was what he'd smoked that morning or if he was feeling particularly brave that day but Mike confronted them. He demanded to know where they were taking them."

Her lips trembled, the corner of her eyes stinging with tears. She spoke softly, "They forced him to his knees. They didn't even give him a chance to speak. They shot him close-range. Then they set fire to one of the homes and took the kids." She sharply inhaled at the cutting pain in her chest, her voice breaking, "All I could do was watch."

She cupped her mouth to hold back the terror threatening to overwhelm her. It was the first time she'd recounted the story in its entirety. She'd shared bits with Andrea and her therapist but he was the first person to get the full account. The dread that accompanied the memory, released itself through the unexpected sobs that wracked her body.

He immediately made his way to her, wrapping her huddled form in his arms. He pulled her against his solid chest as she cried out her grief after a year of holding back. He whispered soothing words, resting his lips against her locks.

The emotions that held up the walls between them came crumbling down. Their shared vulnerability mended the fractured trust between them. It had taken ripping off the masks they hid behind but they were finally on the same page. A sense of relief made its way into their hearts.

Rick held her close for several minutes until her sobs turned into soft hiccups. He didn't mind, he would've held her for hours if that's what she needed.

Realizing what she'd done to his shirt, she uneasily pulled away from his chest and roughly wiped away her tears. "Sorry, I didn't…"

"No," he firmly interrupted, indifferent to the damp spot on his chest, "You don't need to apologize."

His earnest tone left no room for argument. She nodded, wiping away a few more tears.

He stood up and mumbled, "Let me…" as he scurried away to retrieve a box of Kleenex. He handed it to her, resuming his position next to her, and gently rubbed her arm.

She pulled a few tissues out. "Thank you."

He'd made a complete ass of himself. He'd acted impulsively without any regard to how it would affect her. He didn't know the full story but now that he did, the regret choked him. "I'm sorry, Michonne."

She continued wiping her face and shook her head, sensing his remorse. "You didn't know."

She didn't need to make excuses for him. He should have thought things through, found another way. At any rate, this wasn't about him. This was about what she'd survived. "That shouldn't have happened. You shouldn't have had to see something like that," he asserted, "Mike was a good man for doing the right thing."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "He was." She looked up at him through her wet eyelashes. "But I know things aren't always that simple."

Seeing her upset did something to him. He felt angry; angry at the cruelty and trauma she had endured, angry at himself for being so obtuse. She deserved better. She deserved a safe and vibrant life. What he'd done had not afforded her with the trust and safety she needed.

He admonished himself, "I should've told you. I thought the less you knew, the safer you'd be."

She remained silent, sniffling away the last of her tears, pocketing the tissue.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, pleading for forgiveness with his gaze.

Looking into his dimly illuminated eyes, she knew she had nothing to forgive. He'd done his job in keeping them safe. She shakily inhaled, resting back against the couch. He didn't need to present her with an apology. Right now, all she needed from him was comfort, some way to ease the anxiety that was taking its time to fade away. She grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers, awaiting her apprehension to dissipate.

He held his breath at the feeling of her warm touch.

"I'm sorry about your shirt," she said softly.

Finding his voice, he hoarsely replied, "I'll be alright."

She nodded, contemplating his hand in hers. "I'll be alright, too."

Her words brought him a sense of relief. He hadn't totally screwed up things between them. From now on, whatever she needed, he'd be the one to give it to her.

Unwilling to allow their arrangement to fall into disarray again, she made a decisive request. "No more bullshit." She looked up at him expectantly.

He agreed without hesitation, "No more bullshit."

She nodded, stroking her thumb over his. She stared down at their intertwined hands again. His were strong and calloused, hers slender and smooth. The rage and sadness she expected to feel after sharing her dark moment didn't come. She felt at peace, calm and content. Sitting next to him on this couch, his hand in hers, felt natural. It was as if they'd done this in a past life and they were just picking up where they left off.

Reluctant to let go, she sighed, "I'm tired."

He maintained his silence for fear of ruining the moment with words.

She squeezed his hand and released it, standing up, ready to bring the long day to an end. He stood with her. Unease settled between them, a natural reaction to the intimacy of the moment. They laughed nervously before he put an end to it by offering her a hug. She tentatively buried her face in his firm shoulder and wrapped her arms around his back. Peace settled upon her as he soothingly rubbed her back.

After a moment, he pulled away and looked down at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

He squinted at her unsurely. "Are we okay?"

She closed her eyes with a smile. "Yeah, we're okay." She warmly gazed up at him.

He smiled at her tenderly. Something about his eyes unlocked the self-assurance she sealed away a year ago. She felt ready. She wasn't sure for what but her heart hammered in her throat in anticipation. The tension between them nearly caused sparks to emit from their bodies.

Seeing the openness of her gaze, his smile faltered. He searched her eyes, confirming that he wasn't just imagining the message she was sending. He tentatively leaned down, his eyelids growing heavy. She drew him in like a magnet. He paused near her lips, allowing her one last opportunity to set him straight.

She closed the distance.

The feel of her lips struck him, roaring through him like thunder. She was a summer storm, a sudden and mighty tempest. Her supple caress was both a welcome reprieve and refreshing renewal of life.

The kiss was tentative, at first. She gripped at his biceps as he lightly held her waist. Once they'd familiarized themselves with each other's' caress, they boldly plunged forward.

His lips glided across hers, testing her pliability with his tongue. She welcomed him, pulling him closer, edging her fingers into his curls. Her mouth was a warm and luscious retreat. He couldn't get enough.

The sound of their exploring lips filled the living room. Their deep intakes of breath added to the heavy ambiance of their newfound intimacy. The urges built up within them. It drew them closer, his hand finding its way to the slope of her ass, pulling her against his hard body.

It was his loud groan of pleasure that broke the trance.

She pulled away, catching her breath as she rested her forehead against his. He held her hips steady as she caressed his cheek. He leaned against her forehead, his parted mouth already yearning for her.

Her thumb dragged across the corner of his swollen lips and down his chin. "We shouldn't," she whispered, unwilling to step away from his addicting heat.

He swallowed back the desire pouring through his body. He knew she was right. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to follow through. "I know."

After a moment, her hands lowered to his chest. He watched her intently, looking for any sign that she'd changed her mind.

With her breath returning to normal, she pulled away and gazed up at him with a solemn look. "Goodnight, Rick."

She slid her hands down his forearms, easing his grip on her, and released his hands with a squeeze. Stepping back, she gave him a faint smile before sweeping her hair over her shoulder and padding away. The natural sway of her hips mesmerized him.

His heated gaze followed her until she vanished upstairs. When his brain cells finally reacted, he gulped down a breath of air, his eyelids fluttering in a daze. It took all his willpower to resist following her and exploring the desire that blazed in his belly.

His eyes wildly searched the dimly lit room, trying to find his balance. With one kiss, she'd knocked his world out of orbit. The boundary was crossed and there was no coming back.

Rick ran his fingers through his hair, gripping at his roots. An incredulous smile spread across his lips. Something was blooming inside of him. A myriad of unfamiliar emotions roared through him.

This woman would be the end of him, an end he'd be happy to embrace.

* * *

 _ ***shyly waves* Hi.**_

 _ **It's been a while, ay? I hope y'all don't mind an update.**_

 _ **I could write a list of reasons to explain my absence but I'd rather take some time to say thanks.**_

 _ **Thank you to every single one of you who reviewed and sent me messages about this story. You have no idea how much I depend on your support to help me produce something beyond incoherent jibberish. I love you all so much!**_

 _ **I will do my best to update this story soon but until then, I'm dying to hear what you thought. I know I promised a slow burn but is this slow enough? Does the burn have enough scorch to it? Are they moving too fast? Too slow? Where do you think Rick and Michonne are going to take it from here? Your thoughts are my inspiration. :)**_

 _ **Much love!**_

 _ **Your ever grateful writer,**_

 _ **semul**_


	9. More Guts Than You Could Hang on a Fence

_Three weeks later in Juarez, Mexico_

Guillermo Hernández didn't fear death. Fear was a weakness and only the weak got taken.

It was a belief that kept him alive. Though, it was a belief that often boosted his boldness – a trait that offended men like the one sitting across from him.

He scowled, indifferent to the offensive quality his voice took on. "Why here?"

The bustle of his diligent staff preparing for dinner reminded him to tone down his animosity. The last place he wanted a man like Caesar Martinez was in his restaurant and near his people.

Martinez was a narco infamous for his ruthlessness. It was a reputation he proudly brandished and one that was well-known throughout the town of Juarez. To the people he terrorized, he was evil incarnate.

The evil narco sniffed. He leaned back in his chair, disinterested in providing explanations. "Why the fuck do you care?"

What Guillermo didn't care for was evil men. What he especially didn't care for were evil men making arrangements to dine in his restaurant.

"It's my restaurant," he contended.

He couldn't help but be protective of his greatest accomplishment. Elegant and seductive, La Cazadora was a restaurant dignified of its name. Just as the pure Roman huntress Diana stood out among goddesses, as did La Cazadora amid a land of brutality. Refined yet immaculate, it was the pride of Juarez.

Even so, its very existence was born of the violence that now plagued the country. He had hoped to keep La Cazadora protected from the depravity of her origins. His hope shattered the moment Martinez appeared.

"This," the arrogant man glanced up at the spacious ceilings and elegantly arched interior, "This ain't yours. This belongs to him. You belong to him. Or did you already forget that?" He tilted his head, assuring him it was a question that required no response.

While that claim was once true, he no longer saw it that way. He worked to build the restaurant from the ground up. He made something of himself. His business was his and he didn't belong to anybody.

However, it wasn't an opinion shared by the man in front of him. He continued destroying his illusion of independence, reminding him of his shame.

"You should be fucking grateful. If it wasn't for the Governor, you'd be dead just like your pussy crew."

Ire ignited in his eyes. The mere mention of his former squad brought a shooting pain to his gut.

They protected their small town outside of Juarez as best they could. But they were no match for the likes of the Governor and his narco troops. Only he was spared from the executions. Only he was spared to protect his town.

"Los Vatos wasn't some pussy crew," he seethed.

"I don't give a fuck what they were called," the irritated goon snapped.

He resisted the urge to choke the life out of him.

Unperturbed by the look of death being thrown his way, Martinez shrugged. "The Governor had a couple of small problems come up. Nothing that can't be fixed."

Guillermo wanted nothing to do with the Governor's problems, small or otherwise. He had enough on his plate fending off the troublemakers who tried to start turf wars in his place.

This time, he had no choice. The man who'd funded his vision had made a request to dine at his establishment. It was a request that couldn't be refused.

"When is he coming?"

"Friday."

"What do you need?"

The narco smirked, eager to piss him off. "Mmm, pon un carne asada con poquito de chile, unos frijoles, tortillas…," he listed off as if he were ordering his meal. Seeing his unamused expression, Martinez broke into a grin. "I'm fucking with you, mijo. No te pongas asi."

Guillermo narrowed his eyes, his condescension pushing him closer to the edge.

Giving him a wide smile, Martinez informed him, "We'll send you instructions later this week."

He hated being on a leash but he hated the idea of the Governor's wrath even more. Clenching his jaw, he probed, "Anything else?"

The narco sneered, amused by his hostile obedience. With the arrogance seeping from his pores, he leaned over the table. "Asi me gusta, listo y atento." He patted his cheek.

Smacking his hand away, Guillermo pushed away from the table hard enough to send his chair crashing to the floor. He was ready to kill him.

Pleased by his show of rage, Martinez held his hands up and laughed. "Ey, ey, calmate."

A few of Guillermo's staff waited in the wings, ready to come to his defense. He couldn't risk their lives over an evil prick's arrogance. He swallowed his rage, restraining the need to wrap his hands around his throat.

Chuckling at the rabid man, Martinez put on his sunglasses and straightened out his shirt. "Pinche Memo." Eyeing the group of waiters, he lifted his chin at him. "Just be ready, eh?"

Guillermo glared at him in murderous silence as he strolled out the door.

If one thing was for certain, he never wanted that man to ever step foot in his restaurant again. If a couple of problems stood in the way of that, he was more than ready to make them disappear.

* * *

 _El Paso, Texas_

Michonne sat back in the desk chair. She contemplated the man standing outside the glass walls of his dim office. He shifted his weight to one hip, clenching his cellphone by his ear. Judging by his closed eyes and the way he reached to grip the back of his curls, the conversation wasn't going well.

She knit her brow empathetically. In the past three weeks, she noticed the calls became more frequent. Rick's superiors at the U.S. Customs and Border Protection – or CBP as he called them – were impatient for him to make progress in shutting down the ever-elusive cartel. Unfortunately, they hadn't had a solid lead since Gargulio.

Her gaze fluttered down to her hands, eyeing the gold band on her ring finger. The mere mention of that man's name brought back the night Rick confessed to her. Her heart thundered at the memory of what ensued after.

Things changed after that kiss. The trust between them was more palpable than ever but so was the crackling tension. Playing the part of a married couple didn't help.

Every time they showed affection in public, there was an edge to it that had onlookers blushing from the unresolved tension. Though, things never went further than playing their parts. They hadn't crossed any lines in private since that night, which was both a blessing and a disappointment.

Instead, she focused all her energy on her job. He, on the other hand, focused all his energy on catering to her.

Every morning he whipped up breakfast and prepared a lunch to take to work. Every night, he prepared a dinner and dessert she always ended up loving – as evidenced by the five pounds rounding out her hips. After cleaning up from dinner, they took walks on the nearby trail. Sometimes they talked about their day. Other times, they simply enjoyed the warm night and scenery around them in silence.

Their bond surpassed her wildest expectations. His thoughtfulness created a connection between them she never thought possible. It was as if he knew her inside out. Every detail he picked up on her, he remembered and utilized for the sake of utilizing. He had no ulterior motive other than to be unconditional. The peak of it came over a week ago in the middle of their fake domestic bliss.

It wasn't one of her finer moments. She'd neglected to pack more than a few tampons in her luggage. Assuming she'd be on her own for the duration of the assignment, she thought she'd have a spare moment to pick some up. Unfortunately, she had no idea she'd end up living with a man who enjoyed shopping for groceries on his own. Her predicament slipped her mind until the time came to use them.

They'd been lounging around at home when she mentioned it to him. She was down to her last one and had plans to take a trip to the store. She didn't think much of it when he asked her what brand she used. At least not until a half an hour later when he handed her a heating pad, three variety packs of tampons, a bag of pads, and two king-size Big Cat bars. He then offered her a couple of days off, if she needed it.

No man she had ever been with was that proactive or thoughtful in her time of need. Rick Grimes was something else. In fact, his unreserved sweetness had her wondering what could've happened had they not been coerced into working together.

One thing was for sure, that kiss they shared wouldn't have ended with a mere goodnight.

She smiled at the thought, fondling the ring on her finger.

"What's so funny?"

Her smile fell. She focused on the scruffy man with a laptop sitting across from her. Daryl Dixon. She almost forgot he was there.

The three of them were working late that night. Their official excuse was to catch up on paperwork. In reality, they were finally moving forward with Rick's theory: to find a leak in the department.

To start, they combed through the personnel files of every employee. Unbeknownst to Daryl, Maggie and Glenn helped them secretly access the files without arousing suspicion. Yet, even with their help, it took almost a week to get through them.

Michonne was resistant to include Daryl. His defiant attitude was off-putting – a claim Rick agreed with yet asked her to look past.

Conversely, Daryl had been resistant to include her because of her 'supposed' inexperience. Rick convinced him that her journalism connections would be vital in covering their tracks.

Reluctantly, they agreed to tolerate each other for the sake of a common goal. The lack of love in the room couldn't be anymore obvious.

She shook her head at his question, raising her eyebrows. "Nothing funny here."

He gave her a look and continued perusing the digital file.

Doing her best not to roll her eyes, she stared down at her ring again. Allowing herself to get caught up in a fantasy had distracted her from her real purpose. She was there for a story. She wouldn't get one if she avoided overcoming the obstacles.

Moreover, making an effort to mend their arbitrary rift could prove useful down the line. One never knew when a grungy, mumbling biker could prove useful.

She swallowed back her distaste and attempted to break the ice. "You don't seem like the kind of guy who'd work in a place like this."

His jaw ticked in annoyance.

"Yeah?" He glared up at her. "And what kind of guy do I look like?"

Unperturbed by his irritation, she shrugged, giving him an honest answer. "Maybe a biker. Someone who enjoys the open road, not being stuck inside an office behind a computer all day."

He chewed on the inside of his cheeks for a moment. His silence had her rethinking her strategy until he finally admitted, "I do when I'm not here."

She knew it. He avoided her gaze.

"So you are a biker?"

He squinted in suspicion. "Rick tell you that?"

"No, just a guess."

He shrugged, looking back down at the file. "When I have time, I ride."

She nodded, an odd thought popping into mind. "You know. I've never been on one."

"On what?"

"I've never been on a motorcycle."

It was true. She'd never ridden a motorcycle before in her life and never had an aspiration to until that very moment. She gauged his reaction.

His gaze flitted up at her from his screen, weighing her words. He grunted before rasping out, "Yeah, well, you should try it."

The corners of her mouth lifted. "I should."

He glanced at her again before continuing to look over his file. "You look like the kind of chick who might like it."

Amused by his jibe, she chuckled. His eyes shined with mirth.

With the air between them lightened, they resumed their search. The further they looked, the more entrenched the wave of corruption became. Unsurprisingly, some employees had questionable histories. Yet, none were more suspicious than Phillip Blake.

The manner in which he was appointed chief and kept the position for the last six years was unsettling. He could be the leak but she knew he was more than that.

She spent months looking into Blake before she was given the assignment. Even then, she was able to establish a high degree of corruption surrounding him. It was a degree of corruption she'd only ever seen among those conspiring with drug lords in Sierra Leone.

After sorting through the classified reports, she realized he wasn't merely colluding with the cartels. The amount of unchecked power and influence he possessed suggested only one explanation. It was one she had yet to share with Rick.

A frustrated sigh caught their attention.

Rick stood in the doorway, an annoyed look on his face. "Shit," he huffed.

"What is it?" She stood from her chair, instinctively drawn to him.

"The director of CBP field operations is giving me two weeks to pin down something on the cartel. If I don't, they're relieving me of my duties."

The director had kept Rick on a short leash since the botched fruit truck operation. He checked in with him every week for updates, much to his annoyance. With elections coming up, the director probably had politicians breathing down his own neck to produce results. The only problem was that the leak destroyed any chance of catching up to La Leña. They were essentially chasing a ghost.

She reassuringly entwined their hands and rubbed his arm. "We'll figure it out."

Squeezing her hand, he nodded, internalizing her confidence.

"We're close," avowed Daryl.

The ring of a phone disrupted the tense moment. Daryl reached into his pocket. "I gotta take this." He rushed out of the office, leaving his two partners behind.

Alone at last, she gazed up at Rick. His eyelids fluttered shut, his head bowed in a moment of reprieve. He looked tired.

A few days ago, he'd shared with her his desire to leave undercover assignments behind. She didn't realize how much of a toll the life of an agent took on a person.

She tilted her head in compassion. He deserved a break from the stress of his job. Bringing down bad guys all over the world was not an easy task.

She reached up and cupped his cheek with her free hand. "You okay?"

Her quiet question relaxed him, resting his cheek against her palm. "Yeah," he drawled out with a sigh, "I just need this to be over."

She tried not to clump herself in as part of the 'this'. The thought disappeared when he pulled her in for a hug. Taken aback by his show of affection, she carefully wrapped her arms around him, resting her lips against his shoulder.

He buried his nose into her coconut-scented hair. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Soothed by his own scent mixed with his aftershave, she mumbled against him, "For what?"

"I said I'd help you with your article but I've just been dragging you into my shit."

Cradling her soft form in his arms, he savored her closeness. Nineteen days and three hours had passed since she last let him hold her this close. She kept her distance, maintaining the boundaries set by the roles they played. Of course, he respected her decision to not pursue what they started with that kiss. Still, he couldn't avoid the feelings he developed over the ensuing weeks.

Seeing her day in and day out, enjoying the pleasure of her company, it chiseled away at whatever armor he had left. She found a way to open his heart, exposing it only for her to reach. And he let her. He trusted her. She had become the most important person in his life. Whether she felt the same or not, he was just grateful for her presence. It was a presence he would protect with his life.

He held her close, hoping against hope that what he felt for her was enough to keep her safe from harm.

Sensing a slight tension in his embrace, she assumed he could detect her unease. She had to tell him.

Reluctant to end their impromptu hug, she winced. "Actually, I have a theory."

He pulled away, intrigued by any theory of hers. "You do?"

Taking a deep breath, she released his grip on her and began pacing around the office. "I spent months gathering everything I could on Blake but I still can't prove my theories. You started suspecting him as the possible leak but can't prove his involvement." She stopped to look at him, easing him into her theory. "But what if he isn't doing the dirty work. What if he's more than what we think?"

He chewed on his bottom lip, focused on her words.

"What if…," she paused, hoping her theory wasn't as farfetched as it seemed, "what if Blake is the Governor?"

Containing his incredulity, he knit his brow. "Blake? Chief Patrol Agent of the CBP as the head of the biggest cartel in northern Mexico?"

"It makes sense," she whispered eagerly, keeping an eye on Daryl outside the door. "He has influence as the head of customs. Not only can he control the people in the department but he can use that same power to threaten the cartel into submission. It'd be easy. It's a game to him, moving pieces wherever he wants, benefitting from every order he gives."

He shook his head, still in disbelief. "Why would he involve himself like that? He's in the spotlight. He could get away with getting paid under the table but to head a cartel? He wouldn't be able to hide that."

An influential man hiding something seedy? She gave him a doubtful look. "Can't he?"

Immediately recognizing his naïve claim, he corrected himself. "Alright then, why? What does Philip Blake stand to gain by risking his career _and_ his life?"

She recollected the politicians and agencies she brought down with her Pulitzer article. They risked it all for their piece, too. After all was said and done, that same question was posed: why do the rich and privileged take those chances?

She sat on the edge of his desk, gazing up at him for a moment. She'd lived with the answer to that question all her life. From experience, she knew it was one most people resisted to accept.

"Because it's not a risk. Risk means there's a chance Blake will get caught and pay the consequences. He's not risking anything."

He narrowed his eyes in confusion.

She tilted her head with a sigh. "Who would ever believe a wholesome, white man protecting the border against drug-carrying criminals is the head of Mexico's most powerful cartel?" She gave him a cheerless smile. "Not even you believe that."

Silence filled the room as he blinked at her. It shouldn't have taken him so long to wrap his head around her words but it did. It was one thing to implicate Blake in leaking information to cartels. It was quite another to accuse him of being the head of a cartel. He had no reason to trust Blake but he wasn't ready to admit something this big had escaped his radar.

Yet, the passion and confidence behind her words were justified.

Blake had nothing to lose and everything to gain. His position allowed him to hide under the radar. Any order he gave would deflect suspicion of his involvement. It would be easy for him. Hell, it had taken months to even start suspecting him of tipping off the cartels. The corruption ran far deeper and she was the only one who'd noticed.

"This is serious, Michonne. A lead like this…," he paused, a flurry of the worst possible scenarios flew through his mind. He blew out a breath. "Something like this could get us killed."

She knew the risks. She understood what a threatened, powerful man was capable of doing. Was she willing to risk it all again to unmask another corrupt system?

Months ago, she would've walked away. She wouldn't have even considered it. But, now? She searched his eyes, her faith in both of them clear. "It's worth a try."

He held her gaze, rubbing his thumb against the inside of his fingers. If this turned out to be true, it would be the biggest break in the corrupt system's history. It could lead to serious changes in the way things could be run. If they were wrong – he didn't want to imagine the fatal repercussions.

"It'll be dangerous."

She could sense his resistance.

He adjusted his stance, lifting his head assuredly. "Taking down Blake, it'll be dangerous," he restated, his eyes now focused and intense.

He was with her. Relief settled in her chest.

He repeated her words, "It's worth a try."

She threw her arms around him. Overcoming his surprise, he lifted her off her toes with a bone-crushing hug. He indulged himself in her affection.

"Rick," Daryl interrupted, swiftly ending their moment.

Pleading for patience, he reluctantly released her. "What is it?"

"I just got a call from a waiter who works at one of them cartel-friendly restaurants. He says they're expecting an important meeting to happen this Friday. I checked it again with my other sources and they confirmed it too."

Rick shared a look with her, resting his hands on his hips. "A meeting with who?"

"He thinks it's the Governor."

Rick remained silent, his fingers dancing against his jeans. This was it. This was their chance to confirm her theory. This was the final plunge. They'd finally get the proof they needed to implicate Blake. They could finally bring down La Leña and its Governor.

He peeked up at Michonne, then Daryl. His two companions awaited his decision.

With the weight of the world on his shoulders, he nodded. "It's time we figure out who this Governor is."

* * *

"When you said you wouldn't be contacting me for a while, I didn't think you meant three weeks."

Michonne shook her head. Judging by her best friend's tone, she was in for an earful.

"Glenn kept you updated," she reminded her. Adjusting her phone to speaker phone, she continued calmly folding her laundry.

With her favorite R&B classics playing in the background, she was enjoying a quiet evening in her room. Rick was downstairs coordinating their operation with Daryl.

He had quite a job in front of him. Not only was Daryl in on it but so were Maggie and Glenn. Somehow he was working with all of them yet keeping Daryl in the dark about his CIA cover. She offered to help him by staying out of it. He was experienced in running operations; she wasn't. She was more than happy to just tag along with his plan.

Her attention quickly returned to her friend as the grievances spilled out.

"Updates? You mean me freaking out about you working with this complete stranger and Glenn whimpering 'I can't release that information to you'. You mean those updates?"

Andrea's distraught tone made her chuckle.

"Are you laughing?" Her outraged friend sounded insulted.

She half-heartedly sighed at her dramatics. "I'm okay, Dre."

"Are you though?"

Her friend's loaded question made her pause. What was once a simple assignment, was now a muddied situation. Her and Rick were no longer just two people working together on an assignment. They had an undeniable connection. It was intense. It was exhilarating. Even facing the mundane with him seemed like an adventure. And after agreeing to yesterday's decision, mixing in a chance of danger wasn't making things any clearer. However, she couldn't admit any of it to her best friend, especially the last part.

She promptly evaded the question. "We're getting close to making a break."

Andrea huffed, sensing her friend's skirting of the question. She entertained her dodging. "Yeah? Does that mean you're done playing secretary? Are you coming home soon?"

The thought of leaving made her stomach clench. She wasn't ready to think that far ahead. "Soon enough."

"Details?"

"Not yet."

Undercover really did mean undercover. Andrea grudgingly changed the subject. "So, how's your cowboy hubby?"

"He's fine."

Her abrupt response brought a teasing smile to Andrea's face. "Really, that's all you're gonna give me?"

"Things are…," she couldn't find a word that captured the whole picture. So, she chose the most accurate description. "Things are good. They're nice. He's nice. It's good."

Her claim was met with silence and then a long-winded, "Oh. My. God."

"What?"

She could hear the smile in her voice. "I've never heard you lie tongue-tied before. This is new."

Michonne looked at her phone with offended innocence. "I'm not tongue-tied. And I'm not lying."

"But you're leaving something out," Andrea sang. "What happened?"

She rolled her eyes. Of course Andrea would catch on. Well, she wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of an easy lead. If she wanted to pry, she'd have to work for it.

"Nothing. We get along. The job is good. The marriage is good. It's all good."

"I swear to God if you say 'good' one more time...," she threatened.

"Dre." She tried to sound reprimanding, but it came out pleading.

"How good is good?"

She wasn't giving up. Nothing would deter her from finding the truth. She tried one more time to get her to focus on the assignment. "People at work are believing the marriage. We've sold the reconciliation angle well enough that they're open to talking to me now. And I've gathered enough evidence to outline the article. I just need one more thing to happen to get its heart beating."

She hummed with distracted interest. "Uh-huh, yeah, that's great, babe. But I was talking about your marriage. How good is _good_?"

Michonne scoffed, placing her phone on top of her dresser. She threw her folded socks and underwear in the drawer. She wasn't going to win this fight. She released a defeated breath, attempting to seem dispassionate about her answer.

"I mean, he's great. He's nice. He…he makes me laugh. His cooking is beyond impressive." A smile appeared on her face as a list of attributes continued to gush forth, "He listens. He's kind, generous, and thoughtful. You wouldn't believe how thoughtful, Dre. He's easy to live with, easy to talk to. I mean…," her soft voice tapered off as she took in a shaky breath.

She played with the corner of her drawer. She couldn't even try to hold back what had built up inside her in the past month. Rick was the most important person in her life at the moment. She couldn't hide what he meant to her, even to her overprotective friend thousands of miles away.

Andrea cleared her throat. "Well, sounds like you found Mr. Perfect."

Even with hesitancy in her voice, Michonne could tell she was pleasantly surprised. She wasn't seeking Andrea's approval but having her understanding grounded her. It gave her the confidence to believe she wasn't completely insane for liking the man who'd complicated her life.

But then, in true Andrea fashion, she threw her a question she was completely unprepared to answer.

"So have you fucked his brains out yet?"

Michonne felt the blood rush up to her ears as she fumbled to turn off the speaker phone. Whatever conversation they were about to have, she did not want Rick catching wind of it.

"What?! Absolutely not," she hissed into the device pressed against her face. She quickly checked to see that her bedroom door was still closed.

"Oh, come on, 'Chonne! You can't be waxing poetic about this guy and not be thinking about riding him into the sunset."

"I'm not waxing poetic and I'm not riding anything anywhere!"

"Fine, if you prefer to have him ride you, I'm sure it could be arranged."

"Would you stop?"

With a doubtful tone, Andrea pressed her, "Okay, if you haven't fucked yet, what have you done?"

Michonne knew her friend would not let it rest until she got all the details. She reluctantly revealed the extent of their physical relationship, "We kissed."

She teased her with a lilting hum. "Mmm, like a real one or a pretend one?"

"Real," she admitted. "Very real."

There was a pause. "Wow."

"What?"

A threat to a certain southern fried piece of shit came to the forefront of Andrea's mind. She didn't make threats lightly. "Was it an accident or…?"

"No, it wasn't an accident." Michonne couldn't allow her to think it was something that happened without her consent. It may not have been entirely thought out but it was no accident. "We were talking about his job, then I told him about what happened to Mike. One thing led to another and we kissed. It wasn't anybody's idea, it just happened."

"Wait," she said, needing to process the bombshell her friend had dropped. "You told him about Mike? About what happened in Sierra Leone?"

Michonne stilled. She hadn't thought about what her confession to Rick would mean to her best friend. Andrea had been there through all the tears and nightmares, even when she didn't know all the details. If there was anybody she should have confided in, it should've been her best friend.

Unsure of how to explain herself, she stammered, "Yeah, it didn't…I didn't…it just came out. It was probably a matter of time."

Andrea blew out a breath. "This is big, 'Chonne. Really big." She nervously laughed. "I'm…happy for you?"

Her uncertainty was more than obvious. She was trying to be happy for her but she probably felt hurt.

"Dre, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. You should've been the first to know. I got caught up in the moment. I wasn't thinking."

"No, no. Don't be sorry. I'm glad you finally talked to someone about it."

Michonne could sense there was something else.

"It's just, I don't know what to make of it. You met this guy a month ago, decided to marry him, move in with him, and now this?"

She kept her silence, understanding how impulsive she'd been acting lately.

"If it was anyone else, I would say you're being too impulsive. I'd tell you that you've had a touch of Stockholm syndrome or that you just need to get laid." Andrea hesitated. Setting aside her overprotective instinct, she huffed. "But you told him about Mike. Nobody forced you to and it's not something you've talked about to anyone."

Michonne's continued silence clued Andrea into her mindset. She hadn't fully realized what a giant leap of progress she'd made. She didn't realize that whoever this Rick Grimes guy was, he helped her heal in a way nobody else could.

"For someone to earn your trust like that, it's a pretty big deal, don't you think?"

The enlightened observation hung in the air. She had a point. Michonne wasn't the kind of person who laid her problems at people's feet. Her shit was her shit. She dealt with it on her own. But this time, she'd opened up to someone.

He wasn't a stranger but he wasn't Andrea. In a short amount of time, he'd earned her full trust without either of them realizing it. She marveled at the unanticipated revelation. "Yeah, it is a pretty big deal, isn't it?"

Andrea could sense that whatever connection they had, it was one that deserved to see the light of day without all the complications. They only needed a little nudge. "So, do you want to pursue this? See if it's something that could work?"

Michonne sprawled across her bed and stared up at her ceiling. "I haven't really thought about it. With everything's that's been going on, I've just been focused on keeping my head above water."

It was the truth. Sure, she had fantasies about what their relationship could be outside of the confines of their assignments but she hadn't stopped to fully envision it.

Would they still have the same connection if all the danger and uncertainty were gone? What kind of endgame would a real relationship with him entail? Why did a future with kids and a white picket fence not seem as unappealing as it did a month ago?

"Is it something he wants?"

She furrowed her brow, laying her hand on her stomach. Unease bubbled inside her with each question. The thought of him wanting something real with her was unsettling. The thought of him not wanting it was too painful to consider.

Releasing the air fighting against her constricting lungs, she breathed, "I don't know, Dre."

"Hmm, sounds like you two need to figure it out first before you go jumping into something real."

She chastised herself. How could she have let things get so far? She should have kept it simple. Mixing work with the personal never ended well.

Interrupting her thoughts, her friend prodded. "Are you ready to be jumping into other places with him?"

She panicked. Her first thought was of the undercover dinner date they had this Friday. Technically, it was the same covert operation Rick and Daryl were currently planning. She'd volunteered herself as Rick's date. Andrea would kill her if she knew she was putting herself in danger. But how could she know about that?

She shook her head of the idea. "What do you mean?"

"You know. Jumping into his bed, onto his desk, a couch perhaps?"

Of course that's what she meant. She never understood how single-minded her friend could be when it came to men.

She rolled her eyes with a smile. "Dre, I'm not, we're not –"

"But it's a possibility now, isn't it?"

The smile fell from her face. She rubbed her thighs together, uncomfortably shifting on her bed. She hated to admit it but quelling her urges for the past year had taken its toll on her.

Clearly, she was attracted to Rick. And if that kiss was any sign, they had knee-weakening chemistry. Even her dreams had started to betray her.

In the past few weeks, she'd woken up hot and sweaty with sinful images of him fading in a bleary haze. Yet, she couldn't share her frustration. Andrea was the kind of friend who would send a box of vibrators if she knew how pent up she felt. She clenched and unclenched her fist, willing away the thoughts.

Taking her silence as a confirmation, Andrea inquired, "It would be the first time since Mike, right?"

Michonne rubbed at her brow.

"Are you on anything?"

"Dre."

"Michonne."

She paused before admitting a partial truth. "I've been on the pill for a couple months, since I started dating."

"Good, okay," she withheld her excitement for her friend, "No pressure but it's good to stay protected, just in case."

Michonne wasn't exactly lying. She was on the pill – when she remembered to take it. She hadn't quite developed a routine yet. Finding a regular schedule wasn't a priority because sex wasn't a priority. None of her previous dates had potential and her busy life left no room for casual sex. Besides, she hadn't paid much attention to her drive. At least, not until recently.

Nonetheless, an awakened libido didn't mean anything. The chances of her and Rick moving to that level of intimacy were near improbable. There was too much at stake. Plus, if everything went according to plan, they'd be bringing down Blake and the cartel in a matter of days. There would be no time for anything else.

For now, it was all about compartmentalizing and maintaining boundaries. Earth shattering, leg-shaking sex was off the table.

Not an option.

Not gonna happen.

No way in hell.

She continued to repeat the reassurances as she tried to convince her friend of her intentions. "Thanks, Dre, but I don't think it's something we need to worry about."

Unconvinced, Andrea purred, "You never know."

Michonne sat up in bed with a roll of her eyes. "Okay, you've done enough damage. This needs to end before you start putting graphic images in my head."

"Mm-hmm, like those graphic images weren't already rolling around in there."

Her laugh was speckled with sarcastic tones. "Alright, you're all caught up now and I'm regretting this call."

"Fine, I'll stop. But tell that cowboy of yours, I've still got my eye on him. By the way, you still need to send me a pic of this Officer Grimes. I need a visual. You know, for research purposes."

She shook her head as they said their farewells. She was grateful for her friend's playful nature. It made everything seem less daunting.

She only hoped she'd be as good-humored when she found out about the danger she was putting herself in.

* * *

 ** _My, oh my! Things are heating up in El Paso!_**

 ** _Hmm, it sounds like Michonne is in denial as to where her and Rick's relationship is going. I swear she's as stubborn as I am! Good thing Andrea's around to give her a dose of the truth lol._**

 ** _And it appears that the villain is slowly creeping his way into our story. :P I'm hoping y'all remember Guillermo and Martinez. I absolutely loved Guillermo in the TWD episode Vatos. I just had to include him. Martinez, well he was part of the Governor's posse so it only made sense._**

 ** _Now, as I've said before, the concept of using the cartels is one I don't take lightly. In light of recent immigration controversies, I am increasingly careful about how I proceed with this story. I will do my best to remain mindful of how I realistically develop the story and characters._**

 ** _Since this involves Mexico, I will be blending in a few Spanish phrases here and there. I'll provide rough translations after the author's note._**

 ** _Okay, so, what are your thoughts? What do you think of our new characters? How do you think Rick and Michonne's relationship is proceeding? And what did you think of what Andrea had to say? Agree? Disagree?_**

 ** _I'd love to hear what you think!_**

 ** _As always, thank you for your continued support! I treasure your feedback! And thanks to my lovely beta, you're amazing!_**

 ** _Your anxious-to-hear-from-you writer,_**

 ** _semul_**

* * *

 ** _Translations:_**

 **-"Mmm, pon un carne asada con poquito de chile, unos frijoles, tortillas…,"**

 _"Mmm, put on grilled steak strips with a bit of salsa, some beans, tortillas…"_

 **-"I'm fucking with you, mijo. No te pongas asi."**

 _"I'm fucking with you, son. Don't be like that."_

 **-"Asi me gusta, listo y atento."**

 _"That's how I like you, ready and attentive."_

 **-"Ey, ey, calmate."**

 _"Hey, hey, calm down."_

 **-"Pinche Memo."**

 _"Fucking Memo (nickname for Guillermo)"_


	10. It Don't Take a Genius to Spot a Goat

Michonne observed her reflection in the full-length bedroom mirror. _You've got this. You've got this._ Her reassurances did little to quell the nerves wringing inside her.

She ran her hands down the front of her Italian-made black dress. Turning to the side, she noted how well the cut of it complimented her assets. Her boobs and ass looked exquisite. Her stiletto heels only added to their prominence.

A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. She felt in command of the sculpted body she strived to maintain. Straightening her shoulders and raising her chin, she assured herself, _I've got this._ With the sweep of her dreads, she was ready to conquer the world.

The operation would take place in Juarez. Rick made a reservation at the anticipated restaurant under a false name. Their mission was to gather as much intel as they could. Daryl would run the operation from the outside while Maggie provided the cover.

With Blake due in El Paso at any moment, the chances of crossing paths with the Governor were higher than ever. Tonight could very well be the night they caught him in the act.

Expelling her remaining nerves with the shake of her hands, she made her way downstairs to the foyer. With the soft click of her heels on the tile floor, she strolled past the dimly lit living room. She heard Rick muttering into a phone. He was fitting himself with a camera and microphone and - by the sounds of it - ironing out last-minute details with someone

After witnessing all the work he'd put into setting up the mission, she was all the more grateful for not playing a part in the setup. The word 'stressful' hardly began to describe the painstaking process of planning and executing a mission. Fortunately, her job tonight was easy enough: show up and keep an eye out. She was more than happy to entrust the details to the professionals.

Leaving the master architect to his business, she delicately picked up her clutch from the foyer table.

To the naked eye, the small purse looked normal enough. Its muted sheen and brand label lacked any suspicious quality but it was far from ordinary. A concealed microphone and camera hid within its stylish features. It reminded her of a James Bond gadget.

Dressed up and fitted with hidden technology had her feeling like a genuine spy. She could start introducing herself as Anthony, Michonne Anthony.

She smiled to herself. If she was Agent Anthony, Rick was her Bond boy. All she needed to do was bestow him with a suggestive name and a skimpy outfit. Or maybe a speedo.

 _What I wouldn't pay to see that_ , she mused as she placed a few personal items inside the clutch.

Regardless of the amusing distraction, it did nothing to tamper down the fluttering in her stomach. Tonight was her and Rick's first official date. She was looking forward to their evening, but she wasn't sure what to expect. They'd barely seen each other the past few days.

Maintaining their cover amidst an undercover operation was no easy task. It required Rick's meticulous attention. If he wasn't busy at work, he was at home with Daryl, working on setting up the operation. They didn't want anything leaked so it was off the books. This meant Rick had twice as much work to do. His absence was completely understandable. Yet, it didn't stop her from missing him.

She heard him end his phone conversation. This was it. She steeled herself.

He ambled in, his eyes glued to his phone. "That was Maggie and Glenn. They just spent the last twenty minutes insulting my –"

He finally looked up, his mouth hanging open in mid-sentence.

Michonne always looked gorgeous but tonight, she could make a goddess jealous.

Her tight, black dress hugged every alluring arch. The thin straps gave him an enticing view of her elegant neck and shoulders begging to be kissed. Her luscious breasts sat pretty against her sweetheart neckline. Her waist appeared tinier than ever, her hips sexier than ever. The sexy dress stopped above her knees, revealing her beautifully toned legs.

Everything was fitted to perfection. His mouth watered at the thought of running his hands over every curve. He had to swallow back the urge to kneel before her and kiss his way up her flawless figure.

When his eyes finally deemed themselves worthy enough to move on, they inched up to her face. Her hair was styled wavy, half up and half down. A few dreads delicately framed her flawless face. Her dark eyes stared at him, wide in solemn expectation.

His eyebrows quirked upwards as he reappraised his stunning date. Doing his best to send blood back up to his reasoning brain, his eyelashes fluttered to savor her beauty.

"You look…," his breath hitched as he tried to gather his wits. He smiled. "You look beautiful."

Remembering her carefully applied red lipstick, she restrained herself from biting her lip. She peeked down at his tailored suit, swallowing back a mouth of dry nerves. He cleaned up nice. Really nice.

The navy blue of his fitted jacket and pants emphasized the flecks of sapphire in his eyes, darkening them into a sinful shade. His slightly unbuttoned, white shirt tempted her with a view of his masculine chest peppered with fair hair. He styled his brown curls back yet the unruly ones peeked out behind his ears. His trimmed stubble gave her the perfect view of his plump, pink lips. With his enviable natural tan, he looked like a bona fide movie star.

"You, too," she replied, her voice husky. Squeezing her eyes shut at the ill-chosen compliment, she corrected herself. "I mean, handsome. You look handsome."

He grinned. As a finishing touch, he slipped on a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. Like her clutch, they were specially fitted with a hidden camera and microphone. He'd told her about them but she hadn't seen him with them on until this moment.

She nearly whimpered. She always had a thing for men in glasses. Now, she had a thing for Rick in glasses.

Offering her his arm, he nodded. "Ready?"

With her eyelashes fluttering in time with her stomach, she assented, "Ready."

They spent most of their drive to Juarez on the phone with Daryl, finalizing details. There would be an undercover officer in the restaurant keeping an eye on them. Daryl would be monitoring from a blacked out SUV with Jesus. The goal was to find out the identity of the governor and any of his associates. It was an intel mission, not a sting, Daryl reminded them.

Using their passports, they crossed the border with relative ease. They drove in silence until they reached the outskirts of Juarez. An illuminated restaurant awaited them. Driving up, a pair of vested valets helped them out of the car, welcoming them to La Cazadora.

Michonne marveled at the elegance of the establishment. Living in New York, she'd seen her fair share of sophistication but this was something else. It was one of the most regal places she'd ever seen.

The outside was a beautiful white stucco with cobblestone walls surrounding it. Strategically placed lights gave off the impression of a Grecian escape. However, it was far from a utopia. An undercurrent of danger charged the air.

Security cameras were mounted on every corner. Burly, well-dressed bouncers stood guard at the doors. A few smokers milled around the side of the building. They eyed them warily as Rick escorted her inside.

She wasn't sure if it was possible but the inside was even more breathtaking than the outside.

White stucco covered the inside walls. Gorgeous light fixtures illuminated the elegantly arched interior. The tables were covered in pristine, white tablecloths. Lavish dinnerware awaited its guests. In one of the farther corners, a couple of musicians played soothing popular classics. A calming yet romantic ambiance filled the dining room. The music and the gentle hum of relaxed conversation eased her nerves.

Unfortunately, none of it did anything for Rick's nerves.

He was on edge, eyeing every corner of the restaurant, looking for any suspicious sign. _Nothing._ No sign of Blake. Not a single person stood out.

He clenched his jaw, withholding a snarl. Unease gnawed at him. His gut warned him something was amiss but the operation was too intricate to abandon now.

Then again, his gut could be wrong. He had allowed himself to get distracted as of late.

He gazed at his beautiful distraction out of the corner of his eye. He was grateful she accepted to join him. Together they stood a chance at finally exposing Blake. Unfortunately, his good intentions didn't last long. They faded into the back of his mind every time he looked at her.

Her mere scent filled his body with a dizzying need to bury himself inside her. He lived in a constant state of arousal. Her proximity heightened his need. He'd never experienced such an intense longing. Pure carnal lust flowed through his veins.

It wasn't her fault and it wasn't just tonight. His desire for her built up to blinding proportions in the past few weeks. Even in her absence, he could barely concentrate. She was always on his mind.

Even now, in the middle of a dangerous operation, he had to discreetly adjust himself in his pants. The disconcerting hard-on he thought he'd taken care of in the shower reappeared. He felt like a damn hormonal teenager. All that was missing was the cracked voice and acne. He hoped his condition wasn't too noticeable, in spite of the restrained winces that appeared on his face.

His control was slipping. His urges were betraying him. He couldn't trust his gut when his focus was elsewhere.

Determined, he set aside arousing thoughts and focused on the task at hand. Gut feelings or no, he had to be on his A game. There was too much at stake.

After a few minutes of waiting in the lobby, the hostess appeared before them with a smile. "Bienvenidos a La Cazadora. Tienen reservación?"

He glanced at Michonne. Panic filled her eyes.

Withholding a smirk, he cleared his throat, giving the hostess the fake name he'd reserved their table under. "Ah, sí. Tenemos una reservación para Richard Hayes?"

The hostess eyed their wedding bands. She made a safe assumption before smiling brightly. "Por supuesto. Señor y Señora Hayes, tenemos su mesa lista. Sígame por favor."

He could feel Michonne's shocked gaze as the hostess led them to their table. She knew plenty about him but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Situated near the windows, their table gave them a perfect view of the alfresco terrace and the entire restaurant. It was buzzing with people yet not a single person caught his attention. Everything appeared irritatingly innocuous.

Once they were settled and the waiter had taken their drink orders, Michonne patiently smiled at him.

Catching sight of her grin, he did a double-take. She appeared to be waiting for an explanation. Turning his attention back to her, he knit his brow in uncertainty. "What's that smile for?"

"I didn't know you could speak Spanish."

Blushing, he shook his head. "Ah, not really. I know enough to get by."

He didn't like bragging about his hidden talents but knowing her, she wasn't about to let it go. He just hoped it didn't turn into a cross-examination.

The waiter returned with a bottle of wine. After he'd poured their drinks and left, Michonne pressed him for details.

"It sounds like you know more than enough to get by." She took a sip of the wine, delighting in the new tidbit of information on him. "Where'd you learn?"

He shrugged, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Picked it up, I guess."

"Really? You never had formal lessons or lived in some exotic Spanish country for a year?"

He shrugged again, putting down his glass without taking a sip. He had to be careful about how he answered. Daryl was listening in and he couldn't blow their cover.

He played with the stem of his glass, thinking through a believable explanation.

"Some of the guys at work taught me some stuff. Mostly curse words."

That much was true. He'd quickly picked up on their Mexican dialect, swearing included.

Hoping to bring out that dazzling smile of hers, he coyly added. "The rest I picked up from watching telenovelas."

She tried not to spit out her drink. Rick sitting down to watch dramatic acting in Spanish was entirely unrealistic.

"You don't watch Spanish soap operas," she said with a disbelieving smile.

"It's the best way to learn."

She giggled. "You're such a liar."

"I swear, I do."

Their earpieces screeched, a rough voice tearing them from their banter. "You guys done flirting? We got a job to do."

They rolled their eyes. Daryl Dixon, the man with impeccable timing.

He'd forced them to wear inconspicuous earpieces to help with communication. Along with the cameras and microphones, it allowed him to watch their backs. It seemed like a smart idea at the time but they didn't realize how intrusive it would be.

They had an audience and a cover to maintain. Remembering his dutiful husband role, Rick reached across the table for her hand. "Flirting is what's supposed to happen on dates, Dixon. And this is a date, isn't it?"

The fluttering in her stomach came alive. Cover or not, it was a date. He'd said it. She smiled, squeezing his hand.

They heard an unintelligible grumble.

"Maybe Jesus can clue you in as to what constitutes as a date," she added.

Rick snorted. He could already imagine the bright red blush on his partner's face.

They chuckled at Daryl's expense and continued holding hands until the waiter stopped to take their order. Once he walked away, they relaxed into their roles.

She positioned her clutch on the table, pointing the hidden camera toward the patrons of the restaurant. She took a sip of her wine.

He mimicked her as he adjusted his glasses with the hidden camera. He peered around the restaurant.

"Nothing so far," he drawled.

They were looking for a secured area of the restaurant. Heavy security indicated a VIP, possibly the Governor.

"No major movement out here either," confirmed Daryl.

"Maybe we're early?" She scanned the room again.

"Let's hope so." He adjusted his glasses, unaccustomed to their feel on his face.

Disappointed by the lack of activity, they turned their attention to their date.

As the waiter brought out their salads, they resumed their discussion about languages. He discovered she spoke three languages: English, French, and Bengali. She also knew a bit of Shona and Afrikaans from visiting with family as a young girl but not enough to consider herself fluent. He assumed she learned Bengali in preparation for her stay in Sierra Leone but she was careful to not reveal details so as to protect their cover.

As their first course arrived, she found out he had a knack for picking up languages. He knew so many, he'd lost count. They ranged from Spanish to Arabic all the way to Mandarin. And not only could he speak them but he could read and write in them as well. Yet, he was quick to dismiss it. He claimed it didn't matter because he didn't use them enough to consider them mastered.

She briefly wondered if his deflection was to protect their cover. Then again, the more she thought about it, the more she realized humility was ingrained in his DNA.

After living with him for over a month, she learned he didn't like talking about himself. If it came down to it, he'd rather not talk at all. She wondered how an accomplished person like him stayed so unpretentious. She'd never met someone so willing to sacrifice his ego for the sake of avoiding a conversation about himself.

"How do you stay so humble?"

Her question caught him off guard. Chewing slowly, he tilted his head. "Humble?"

She leaned in closer, placing her elbows on the table. "Most men would brag about being multi-lingual. They'd take every opportunity to show off a talent like that. It's in their nature to claim they're better at something than what they really are." She rested her chin on her clasped hands. "But you're not like that. Why?"

The inquisitive expression on her face tickled him. So this was what it was like to be on the other side of the intrepid reporter. He gave her a wide grin. "Am I being interviewed?"

Detecting her body language, she realized she was in reporter mode. Embarrassed, she sat back in her seat. "Sorry, it comes out sometimes."

"No, no. Don't be sorry." He gazed at her, his tone low and flirtatious. "I like it."

It wasn't the first time she'd seen lust in his eyes but there was something else in there tonight. Maybe it was the danger in the air. Somehow it absorbed into his gaze to mix with the lust. It unnerved her. It was enough to unravel a warmness from her core that seeped between her clenched thighs.

Looking down at her remaining salad, she mumbled, "This salad's good. Must be the dressing." She stuffed her mouth with her salad before she said anything else foolish.

He studied her nervous expression. An instinct triggered inside him. He wanted to ease her nerves. He wanted to see her relaxed. He wanted her completely undone.

Erotic images of her coming undone in his arms had him clenching his fists in restraint. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on her original question.

"It isn't humility." He took a sip of his wine in an attempt to distract his instinct.

"What do you mean?"

He took his time forming a safe answer. He wanted to be honest but he couldn't give away their cover.

"There's always going to be someone or something better than me. In this case, languages." He paused to catch her eye. "In our case, your career."

She had no idea what he was talking about until she closed her eyes in realization.

Their marriage. Or rather their supposed divorce.

She'd forgotten who she was for a second. This wasn't a Rick Grimes and Michonne Anthony date. This was a Rick Grimes and Michelle Harrison date.

Good thing he was well-versed in the art of undercover. Otherwise, they'd have a very confused Daryl and Jesus on their hands.

She put her salad fork down and nodded in understanding. "Ah, right. That happened, didn't it?"

Relieved that she picked up on his cues, he tilted his head in agreement.

Thinking about her response for a moment, she treaded lightly. "I don't think my career was ever better than you. It was just a path I needed to take," she paused before divulging a truth, "Before I could find my way to you."

Her sincerity couldn't be mistaken. This wasn't a conversation between a fake-divorced couple. This was real. Though their honesty was shrouded in cryptic phrasing only they knew how to decipher.

Keeping his gaze downcast, he asked the question that plagued the deep recesses of his mind. "Is there something or someone better out there for you?"

His searching eyes met hers. She could tell it was a question for Michonne, not Michelle.

She took a moment to compose her thoughts. "These past weeks have shown me that it isn't enough to find something or someone better." She focused on his ringed hand that rested on the table, tentatively reaching out to cover it. "I forgot what it's like to _be_ a better version of myself. I forgot that it's important to look for the best in _me_."

She glanced up at him. His timid smile squeezed at her heart. Her affection for him flowed like a natural spring. He'd been hurt in the past. She'd also known unimaginable pain. Fate had led them to cross paths at a crucial crossroads. It was up to them to decide how to continue on their journey. She hoped it was together.

Holding his gaze steady, she took a chance. "I forgot until I met you. Again," she hastily added for the sake of their listeners.

He let her words settle in his heart as he entwined their fingers. He searched her eyes. "Yeah?"

Breaking through his lust-clouded mind appeared an indescribable emotion. It took him a moment to recognize it. It was one he hadn't felt in a long time.

She confirmed it with a gentle reply. "Yeah."

The revelation settled between them. Luckily, the waiter came around with their second course in the nick of time. It distracted them from delving further into their declarations.

They enjoyed the rest of their delicious meal, taking deliberate moments to look around. Nothing stood out as suspicious. Even when Michonne stopped by the restroom, she couldn't find anything out of the ordinary.

Waiting for their dessert, they took a moment to appreciate the ambiance.

"Well, it looks like this was a bust." Rick sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Relief settled in his bones. He should've been more surprised by his indifference at having his operation fall through. Then again, he wasn't the kind to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Maybe," said the gruff voice in their earpieces. "We still got a couple hours."

Michonne grimaced. "Are we sticking around for that long?" Though her dress was as comfortable as a dinner dress could be, she was ready to slip into her comfy pajamas.

"As long as it takes," Daryl raspingly replied.

They sighed – unknowingly in unison – and looked over at the musicians. A few couples were out on the dancefloor. They all seemed lost in the music, swaying close together to the sweet melody of 'I Can't Help Falling in Love with You'.

The sight filled Rick with anticipation. An anticipation that had nothing to do with their mission. He blinked over at her.

He allowed her beauty to slip into his soul and unfurl inside him like the most exquisite ivy. Her essence crawled inside him, calling forth an adoration of which he didn't know he was capable. No woman had entwined herself in his soul as she did. The need to feel her in his arms overtook him. He needed it so much that for the first time in his life he was willing to set duty aside to satisfy his need.

He turned in his seat, intently looking upon her. She was oblivious to his yearning. For now. With a knowing smile, he arched his eyebrow.

Distracted by the music, it took her a moment to feel his stare. "What?"

He blinked, turning his sly gaze toward the musicians. "That piano player looks a little suspicious, don't you think?"

She analyzed the musician. He seemed innocent enough, playing his keys, mesmerized by his own music. She didn't get a suspicious vibe. She turned back to Rick, her brow knit in uncertainty.

He urged her, "If we got a little closer, we could get a better look." He stood and offered her his hand.

Sensing a hidden reason behind his request, she hesitantly agreed, "Okay." She took his hand.

Once on the dancefloor, he rested his impatient hand on her waist and pulled her towards him. Caught off balance, she fell against his chest. Her face heated up as she awkwardly tried to position herself. He smiled at her uncertainty. Nestling her against him, he effortlessly entwined their bodies. He gently swayed with the music, leading her in a seductive dance.

She felt secure in his arms. The heat of his body enveloped her in a warm refuge she wanted to sink into. Her hand gripped his shoulder, hugging him to her chest.

 _Intoxicating._

It was the only word she could summon to describe being in his arms. His warmth, his hard body, and his masculine scent fueled a barrage of forbidden fantasies. Her stomach clenched in longing. It didn't help that he was just as drawn to her.

His embrace felt different. More intense. More passionate.

She was losing perspective. Recalling the reason for the dance, she focused what was left of her attention on the musician. "He seems harmless enough."

Rick, already lost in his own desire, murmured, "Who?"

Catching on, she playfully narrowed her eyes. It was a ruse. He'd given her a feeble excuse just to get her on the dance floor. "Really?"

He buried his crafty smile in her hair, his hand lowering down her back, pulling her closer.

She drew a breath when she felt his hand against the curve of her backside and his firm arousal against her upper thigh. She faltered in her steps, digging her fingers into his bicep. He didn't seem to mind as he continued dancing.

She cleared her throat, determined not to let her mind stray from the mission. "You could've asked." Her voice betrayed her, hoarse with lust. "For a dance, I mean."

His voice sounded deeper, echoing her tone. "Yeah," he swallowed back his longing, "but that would've given Daryl a chance to cut in."

The tension lessened when they heard a grumpy protest in their earpieces. "Leave me outta this."

They smiled, resuming their dance. Amidst the danger and uncertainty, they felt anchored in each other's arms. The melody of the music swirled around them, forming a refuge of abandon.

Finally losing herself in the moment, she turned her head and instinctively nuzzled his jaw. His heady scent whispered into her lungs, filling her with an urge to lick him. She drew in closer, her lips brushing against his neck.

Sensing the same need as she, his grip on her tightened. His logical mind told him it wouldn't be good manners to tear her dress off and fuck her in the middle of a dancefloor. A Southern gentleman always showed restraint. Though with her lips on his neck, she wasn't making it easy.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you for agreeing to all this."

Snapping out of her reverie, she pulled away from his neck. Uneased by her public display of affection, she blinked back to reality. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ She was practically rubbing up on him like a cat in heat.

She turned her face away from him, desperately trying to distract herself. "I guess I didn't have anything better to do on a Friday night."

A smile tugged at his lips. "Not just tonight. Everything. All of it."

He didn't need to thank her. She knew how easily he could've kept her out of the loop. He could've played it safe and kept her home but he chose to trust her.

"I should be thanking you for letting me in," she said skeptically.

A smirk pursed his lips, unable to resist the urge to tease her. "Ah, I don't think there's any need for that. The pleasure's been all mine, Miss Harrison with a hyphen Grimes."

She rolled her eyes with a scoff. "Stop."

He chuckled. "I'm serious." He leaned in with a voice filled with honesty, "You're the best decision I ever made."

The words echoed in her heart, taking her breath away.

After everything she'd gone through, after Mike, after swearing off love, she never thought she'd be here again. She'd prepared to live a life of sorrow and regret. Yet, somehow this man, this CIA agent, this cowboy from El Paso came along and shattered every wall she'd built up around her. She was defenseless, completely exposed to his unanticipated tenderness. She submerged herself in his affection, praying to survive the plunge.

He made his decision about her. It was time to make hers.

She bit her lip, summoning her courage. She quietly confessed, "Me, too."

Trepidation rushed through him. Her revelation was the signal he needed to bring to light what had been wrestling inside him.

"I know this is new," he started out tentatively, "and I understand if you see things differently."

He slowed their dance to a near standstill. Pulling back, he searched the eyes that enraptured him the moment he met her. "But this, you and me, this feels real."

Emotion stuck in her throat. "It does."

Nerves quivered through him. "So, what does that mean for us?"

It was a struggle to keep up with the intensity of their conversation. She furrowed her brow in an attempt to make sense of what was unfolding before her. "What do you want it to mean?"

He paused. He wanted it to mean they'd give themselves a chance. He wanted it to mean that when this mission was over, she'd let him be a part of her real life.

Looking into her eyes, he couldn't deny it any longer. He'd fallen for her. Hard.

He swallowed back his nerves, offering her his hope. "I'd want there to be an 'us' after all of this. I'd want this to be real." He cautiously added, "If that's something you wanted."

Sparks of joy shot from her chest, mixing with the chaos of her mind. Disoriented, she finally allowed herself to make an impulsive and selfish decision for the first time in a long time.

"Yeah, it is." Her bright eyes bared her vulnerability to him.

The song ended and the quiet clapping that followed drowned into the background.

Their heartbeats synced as they closed the distance. He lowered his head, offering her his lips. She slid her fingers into his curls, accepting his offering.

They relished in their gentle union with the slightest of movements, capturing each other's breath in a sweet kiss full of promise. After a few moments, they slowly pulled away. Their mouths hovered open, drunk with each other's taste. He gently rested his forehead against hers.

They held each other, swaying to the next song, allowing themselves a moment of bliss. She pulled away to look up at him. Soft elation shimmered in her eyes. It reflected in his own.

Somehow the improbable happened. Fate had led them to this moment, wrapped in each other's arms in the middle of a dance floor in Mexico. A light kindled inside them, illuminating their way to a path of happiness.

Once the song ended, he led her back to their table, entranced. They sat down, holding hands, preparing for the next step.

They didn't have time to notice a figure walking toward them until he loomed over their table.

"Mind if I join you?"

* * *

 _ **Dun, dun, duuuun! Talk about a novela-esque ending!**_

 _ **Who dare interrupt our beautiful Richonne moment?! By the way, what do you think of the Richonne heat coming off this chapter? I mean, whew! These two have me burning up!**_

 _ **I truly appreciate those readers who left delightful comments and much-appreciated feedback. This fairly quick update is dedicated to you and my lovely beta. You are amazing, your feedback is amazing, and I owe you a great big bear hug.**_

 _ **Also, I'd just like to provide an FYI for those that are displeased with the slow updates.**_

 _ **First, this isn't a finished book. I don't have all the chapters written. This is flowing out of me (or as of late, not flowing out of me) as it pleases.**_

 _ **Second, I am a full-time teacher with a full-time life. Writing is a hobby, not my occupation.**_ _ **Writing requires time and precision. It's art that is creatively and emotionally exhausting.**_

 _ **And lastly, my art flourishes when I feel love. I've done nothing but share the fruits of that love in these chapters. Please return the favor with patience, kindness, and understanding. Considering that I'm giving a piece of the best of me for free, it's not asking for much.**_

 _ **Anyway, thank you so much for reading. I look forward to your lovely feedback!**_

 _ **(Don't forget, translations are provided at the bottom.)**_

 _ **Your very human writer,**_

 _ **semul**_

* * *

 _ **Translations**_

 _ **"Bienvenidos a La Cazadora. Tienen reservación?"**_

 _"Welcome to La Cazadora. Do you have a reservation?"_

 _ **"Ah, sí. Tenemos una reservación para Richard Hayes?"**_

 _"Uh, yes. We have a reservation for Richard Hayes?"_

 _ **"Por supuesto. Señor y Señora Hayes, tenemos su mesa lista. Sígame por favor."**_

 _"Of course. We have your table ready, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes. Follow me please."_


	11. He's Got Horns Holding Up His Halo

Guillermo's dark eyes took them in unabashedly. They silently stared back at him, caught off guard. They didn't seem like the kind of problems someone like the Governor would go to any great lengths to handle.

How much of a threat could a small town officer and a fashion magazine writer pose?

Leave it to the Governor to be paranoid. He didn't even have the balls to show up. Martinez called an hour ago telling him to handle it. They wanted surveillance, evidence of the people involved with this Rick Grimes guy.

Now that he had it, he figured he might as well introduce himself. Maybe give them enough of a reason to stay away, though they didn't look like the kind to scare easy.

Good thing he dressed up Felipe and Miguel to act as his bodyguards. They were harmless enough. But put a suit and sunglasses on them, they looked like a couple of mean motherfuckers.

If that's what it took to scare them off, he'd be happy to play the part.

"May I?" He tilted his head, his civil tone suggesting the question was a formality. Not that their answer would've mattered as Felipe pulled up a chair for him.

Without taking his eyes off Rick, Guillermo called to them, "Felipe, Miguel, check on Abuela. Make sure she has everything she needs."

The guards walked out to the veranda, leaving the three alone.

Rick glared at their intruder. He'd seen hundreds of images of narcos associated with La Leña and this guy wasn't one of them. He had no idea who he was and neither did Daryl, who warned Rick to 'standby' as they scrambled to identify him. His obscurity made him more of a threat. Not just to him but to Michonne as well.

A snarl twitched at his nose at the thought of her in danger. He vowed to keep her safe and now they were face-to-face with an unknown menace. His rage simmered to a dangerous degree. He couldn't tell if he was armed but he was dangerous. For all they knew, he was the Governor.

His made a mental note of the utensils and dinnerware left on the table. He calculated which items would be effective weapons. He took note of the bodily targets that would incapacitate this intruder.

If this prick made one wrong move, he'd kill him.

Unaffected by Rick's unyielding expression, Guillermo looked between his two guests. "American, right?"

Rick's silence was telling. Michonne could feel the hostility seething from his pores. She warily eyed the two men in front of her. She was keenly aware of Rick's ability to make lethal decisions in the heat of the moment. And though she knew nothing about the stranger, she could sense he was prepared to handle anything thrown his way.

She had to navigate the conversation if they had a chance of gathering anything useful. If she didn't, Rick was capable of committing some type of atrocity in front of all these people and they'd get nothing.

With a composure she dug deep to summon, she replied to his question, "We are."

Rick cut her a look of warning. She ignored him, holding the stranger's gaze.

Guillermo nodded. At least they weren't lying to him. Though, it would be easier to hold a conversation with the dreadlocked woman than the hostile white guy. He turned to her, regaling her with his experience.

"We get a lot of American tourists here. They say they're attracted to the 'exotic feel' of this place. Personally, I think it's the danger Juarez provides. Then again, they know they're untouchable as long as they're in here." He sat back in his chair. "La Cazadora is their safe haven."

Rick didn't have the patience for small talk. "Who are you?" His low tone dripped with danger.

He gave him a relaxed look. "My name is Guillermo Hernández and this is my restaurant."

It took a second but Daryl confirmed it, telling them to keep him talking.

Mindful of Rick's precarious state of mind, Michonne continued the questioning. "What is it you want, Mr. Hernández?"

He tilted his head in disbelief. "Really? You come into my restaurant looking for trouble and you're asking _me_ what I want?" He shook his head incredulously. His glittering eyes settled on her. "You fascinate me."

Rick visualized the bullet he wanted to put between his eyes. He didn't like what he had to say. He didn't like the way he was looking at Michonne. He didn't like anything about this smug piece of shit. He wished he had his gun. Even a machete would suffice but they were unarmed. They had no choice but to remain his captive audience.

He would do whatever it took to keep her safe. For now, it required his composure and restraint but, if need be, he'd unleash his ruthlessness. Guillermo Hernández would be dead before he knew it.

Imagining the different ways he could kill him drew out a dangerous smile. "We're not here to start any trouble, Mr. Hernández," he said in a mocking tone. He tilted his head. "Unless that's what you're looking for."

Blinking at him with distrust, Guillermo straightened up in his chair. He didn't care for this guy's animosity. He was on his turf but he acted like he had a right to be offended. He knew how to handle bloodlust but this Rick guy seemed unstable, like a rabid dog on a chain.

He couldn't lose control of the situation. This was his restaurant and the safety of his guests depended on how he handled this. He calmly clasped hands on the table. Using a composed tone, he asked, "If you're not looking for trouble, then why are you here?"

Rick tilted his head in measured consideration. "Dinner, dancing," he eyed him with hostility, "the exotic feel."

Sidestepping Rick's antagonistic exchanges, Michonne redirected the discussion. "Why do you think we're looking for trouble?"

He glanced at both of them, humored by their evasion. They made an interesting team. She was the levelheaded one and he was the one itching to pull the trigger. They had some sort of understanding between them, both of them testing out the waters to see if he was the man they were looking for. He felt a shade of sympathy. They had no idea what they'd stepped into.

Going against his orders, he decided to enlighten them.

"Both of you work for U.S. Customs and you made a reservation here under false names. You don't want people to know you're here but you got a team watching your back. You're looking for him."

The panic blooming inside of them remained masked behind their grave expressions. They heard Daryl curse in their earpieces, directing them to keep the situation from escalating. He'd find a way to get them out.

Guillermo continued, "You're probably bugged, too. But I'm not worried. I have nothing to hide."

They remained silent. Their expressions said everything Guillermo needed to know. He sympathetically noted, "Loyalty is hard to come by. People find all kind of reasons to betray you."

Rick's heart pumped frantically. Their carefully organized operation had fallen apart. They'd kept it under wraps and away from the eye of Blake yet it leaked. Even the people they thought they could trust were unreliable. And though Hernández had the upper hand, he seemed conflicted as he stared down at his clasped hands.

Perplexed by the man's internal struggle, Rick asked, "What are you gonna do?"

After a quiet moment, he gave him a pitying smile. "You're here to find an answer to a dangerous question. You're not the first. Once you know, you won't escape what's coming."

His warning was tainted with fear. Whoever this Hernández was, he understood the danger of the situation. He was warning them of what was to come. He knew more than he let on.

Rick leaned forward. "What's coming?"

Guillermo shook his head with a smile. "I'm not the answer to any of your questions, Mr. Grimes. I'm just a restaurant owner."

Maintaining unwavering eye contact, he pressed him. "Maybe, but you know the answers to our questions. And I need them."

"You think I have what you need?" He squinted at him. "You give me too much credit."

Hernández was getting on his last nerve. Rick snarled. "I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of this situation."

Guillermo narrowed his eyes. This Rick guy was digging himself deeper with no regard for anybody's safety. He had no idea what the Governor was capable of. He had no idea what he was risking.

His voice lost its calm. "No, I'm pretty clear. You're the one that has no idea what you just stepped into." He glanced out of the corner of his eye. "Look around you. There's nothing here for you. Whatever you thought was going down, it was never gonna happen."

After a few tense moments, Rick finally glanced around the restaurant. He should have paid closer attention to his gut feeling.

The Governor was never going to show up. There was never going to be a meeting. It was a setup. They were lured out. Now the Governor knew who he trusted the most. He put them all in danger.

"I gotta respect your confidence." Hernández's voice pierced through his fog of terror. "You just painted a target on everybody involved here."

She didn't want to believe it but then she looked over at Rick. His face was drained of color. His panic was palpable. They'd walked into a trap. Fear and anger swirled inside her. The operation was a bust the moment they were tipped off. She glowered at the man behind it all.

"You work for him."

Guillermo shook his head as he stood from his chair. He'd already gone too far by sitting down and talking to them. He could only hope it didn't get back to Martinez or the Governor. It was time to put an end to their impromptu meeting.

"Like I said, I'm just a restaurant owner." He buttoned up his suit, refusing to look her in the eye. "I do what I gotta do to protect what's mine." His gaze dragged over to the veranda, where he sent his bodyguards.

He looked back at them and cleared his throat. "You're safe as long as you're here. I don't allow violence in or around my restaurant. But I understand if you need to leave."

Rick was still working through his panic, thinking through their escape plan. He needed to get them out of Juarez in one piece. It was time to put the backup plan in place.

"It was a good try," lamented Guillermo.

He studied the couple. They were a force to be reckoned with. Now he understood why the Governor was worried. Even after this, he had a feeling they weren't done poking around. They wouldn't stop until they found their answers. Admiration reflected in his gaze. "Buena suerte."

Standing from his seat, he gave them one final nod. He walked out the glass doors to the veranda, reuniting with his bodyguards and an old woman at a table.

Michonne watched as the old woman she assumed was Abuela reached up to cup his cheeks. He smiled down at her with a warm gaze. Rick was too busy looking for a safe exit to notice.

"Let's go," he whispered, hurriedly paying for their dinner and escorting her out of the restaurant.

Their car was already waiting for them as the valet handed him the keys. Once inside the car, Rick tore the glasses off his face. His anger radiated off of him in waves. She wasn't afraid but she was concerned. She'd never seen him so anxious. She remained silent as he sped out of the parking lot.

He chewed out Daryl through the microphone in the glasses. "What the fuck happened in there?"

"I-I don't know. There was supposed to be…we both checked out the sources." Daryl's stammering was disconcerting. She could tell he was worried. "It was a fucking set up. They fucking set us up."

"Did you see anything? Was it a distraction?"

"No, there was no one. We didn't see anybody in or outside the restaurant."

"Shit."

Rick's harsh tone sat heavy in the silent car. There was nothing they could do to undo the ruined operation. It was all about survival now. "Alright, shut it all down. They could've bugged the car or hacked the feed. Execute Plan Z."

He lowered the car window and threw out the glasses and his earpiece. He held out his hand for her surveillance equipment. She handed him her emptied purse and her earpiece. Once discarded, he focused his gaze ahead.

She was doing her best not to overwhelm him with the questions racing through her mind. Fear coursed through her. They were targets in a foreign country. They needed to find safety. She trusted he knew what he was doing.

He drove in silence until they reached an abandoned store. Once he parked the car, he signaled for her to exit the car. She followed his instructions in silence, too terrified to question him. They hurried to an adjoining gas station, making their way to the back. Hiding in the shadows was an inconspicuous car. They slipped into it without a word. He reached under his seat to pull out a walkie-talkie taped underneath.

He adjusted it to a station before drawling out a code, "Tango, Whiskey, Delta."

He waited a moment before a feminine voice responded, "Romeo, Alpha, Juliette"

"It was a setup."

"We know. We're looking into it."

"Instructions."

"Use alternate route and passports in the glove compartment for border check in."

Michonne opened the glove compartment box and found two passports and a revolver. Her hands shook as she handed them to him.

He glanced at her before checking the gun for rounds. He could see the fear in her eyes. It was like a knife to his gut. He let her down and put her in danger. He tightened his jaw. He had to get her to safety. He'd die before he let anything happen to her. He tucked the passports and gun inside his jacket pocket.

"Where to?"

"Head home. We're at a security level 5. It's the safest place you can be right now."

"Daryl and the team….," he grit out. Though someone from the team had betrayed them, he still wanted them alive.

"They were informed, as planned."

"Thank you."

"Be careful."

He shut off the walkie-talkie and handed it to Michonne. "That was Maggie. If anything goes wrong, turn it on and repeat the code."

"Tango, delta, whiskey," she recited.

He nodded, turning on the car. "We need to make it back but we have to take precautions."

"What happens if we don't?"

He remained silent as he pulled out the parking lot. Once they were on the road, he eyed all the mirrors warily, looking out for anything suspicious. He finally confirmed her worst fears. "The cartels have free reign in Mexico. If anything happens to us here, it never happened."

Memories of the complications surrounding Mike's death rushed to the forefront of her mind. It had taken weeks to cut past the red tape and officially confirm his death. Both U.S. and African governments had done their best to pretend like it didn't happen, to suppress the details. If it wasn't for her, he would've been a nameless man who disappeared into thin air. It was a fate that awaited them if they didn't make it out of the country in time.

Rick continued explaining, "Here, we're lost tourists wandering in the wrong part of town. If we make it back, we're a U.S. officer and journalist. They won't risk bringing attention to themselves by killing us on U.S. soil. Besides, the house is secure and armed. If they're dumb enough to try, I'll kill 'em."

The look on his face told her he wasn't lying.

The drive home was the longest she'd ever experienced. Her nerves were on edge the entire ride. Her eyes scanned every inch of the road looking for anything suspicious. It wasn't until they made it past the border that she started to breathe again. It wasn't until they made it home that her hands stopped shaking.

Once Rick did a sweep of the house, he escorted her in and secured the house like a fortress. With all the home security alarms set and cameras on, he asked for her phone.

"I need your phone. We're going radio silent for the next couple of days."

She handed it over without question. She trusted he knew what needed to be done to keep them safe. He proceeded to turn his and hers off, removing the batteries from each. He placed them in a kitchen drawer.

He looked up at her before reaching into his jacket pocket. "I'm putting our passports," he pulled out the revolver, "and this in here."

She stared at him uneasily as he placed the passports in the drawer and checked the rounds in the revolver.

"Do you know how to use one?"

She closed her eyes and nodded. She didn't own one but she knew how to use one. Her dad was former military and taught her everything she needed to know to protect herself. She never had to use that skill but she didn't want to start now.

"Good." He placed it on top of the passports and closed the drawer.

He pulled the curtains closed in the kitchen. "We need to keep these closed at all times. We have enough food for the next couple of days. If you need anything else, you let me know and I'll send for it. Maggie will let us know by Sunday if it's safe to go back to work or if this is over."

"Over?"

The seriousness of the situation finally hit the pit of her stomach. The operation had failed. Her assignment, his mission, could very well be done. Everything they'd worked for could be gone. Her mouth went dry.

Realizing what he said, he turned to face her. The anguish in her eyes squeezed at his heart.

Keeping his eyes downcast, he rubbed at his brow. He'd hoped it wouldn't get to this point but it had all fallen apart. He emotionally detached himself, offering an explanation she didn't want to hear.

"If my cover is blown, I'll be extracted from this mission. They'll send me somewhere else."

Her stomach fell to her feet. This was his last mission. He didn't want this life anymore. If they shut this down, they'd send him on more missions. They'd keep him on until they felt like he made up for his screw up.

And though she felt for him, a small selfish part of her couldn't bear the thought of losing him. He'd found his way into her heart and she wasn't willing to give him up. Her heart clenched in pain.

He steadied his breath. "They'll put you in witness protection, relocate you. You'll be under their watch until they're sure you won't come back." He nodded, refusing to look at her. "You'll have to let this go."

Tears that she'd been holding back stung at her eyes. This couldn't be over. She vigorously shook her head. They couldn't put an end to something that had just begun. She wouldn't allow it.

"No."

Her broken voice tore at his heart. The thought of never seeing her again was too painful to accept. He drew an excruciating breath, finally looking up at her. Tears filled his eyes as he tilted his head in sympathy. "We have no choice."

Putting her emotions to the side, she frowned. She couldn't believe how quick he was to accept defeat. Anger seeped into her soul.

"No," she said firmly.

"Michonne…"

"No, Rick," she repeated, her tears dissipating. "This isn't over. It can't be over. He has to be brought to justice."

Her resolute attitude weakened his reason. It would be a waste of their time to argue about a decided future. He couldn't kill her hope.

He closed his eyes in resignation. "Alright." He opened them to search her own. "How?"

Regaining her self-assurance, she asserted her plan, "We go back and interview the restaurant owner. Guillermo Hernández. He knows something."

A sour taste prickled at his tongue. If he never saw that prick again, it would be too soon. He didn't care if he was being blackmailed by the Governor, he made a choice. He couldn't be trusted.

"He works for Blake. He's not gonna help us."

Recalling the tender gesture between him and the old lady on the veranda of his restaurant, she explained, "He doesn't want to work for Blake. He didn't have to warn us. He could've gotten rid of us the second we stepped into his restaurant. He's being coerced."

"Doesn't matter," he dismissed, "We can't trust him. If he's being pressured, he'll say what he needs to say to stay alive."

She wasn't backing down without a fight. "Not if I talk to him."

Rick looked away in exasperation.

Ignoring his irritation, she tried to sway his opinion. "I'm not dangerous. I'm not a threat. He knows that. I can get him to open up." She searched his eyes, hoping he'd see reason.

The last place he wanted to see her was back in Juarez, especially alone. They barely made it out alive tonight. He couldn't send her back in just to interview one of the Governor's pawns. She'd be killed. They'd be killed. He couldn't understand how indifferent she was to their precarious situation.

"How can you want to go back after all this? After tonight? You saw how dangerous it was and that was without running into Blake. Now that he knows we're on to him, it's not even safe to leave the house."

His stubbornness was infuriating. The strain that had built up all night finally broke her self-control. She snapped.

"And doing nothing is safe?! We let this go and who knows what he'll do. He's a monster, Rick. He won't stop."

He stared at her in stony silence.

She needed to calm down. Losing her cool wouldn't convince anyone. Closing her eyes, she spoke in a composed tone, "You know what you know. And you're sure of it. But I'm not."

He closed his eyes to seek patience.

Lowering her voice, she cautiously approached him. "I can interview Hernández, follow up with a few leads, and we'll have our story. Once we publish it, you take Blake down and the mission is over. You finally get to stop."

"It isn't safe, Michonne," he repeated, unconvinced. "Something like that will get us both killed."

"It doesn't have to –"

"Michonne," he said sternly. "I'm not risking your life like that. Don't ask me to do it!"

She sharply inhaled as if he'd struck her. Why was he being so stubborn? Why couldn't he understand she was trying to get everything to work out for both of them? She glared at him.

His blood pressure hit its peak. He was angry at their situation, at their powerlessness. He sighed. They were both stressed out, tense to the point of breaking. Their thoughts were muddled by the adrenaline still pumping through their veins. There was no point in allowing this to escalate.

He stepped closer to her. Gently rubbing her arms, he lowered his gaze to her level. "Please, Michonne. Don't ask me to risk your life. I can't –" his breath hitched, his voice softening, "I can't lose you."

His soft plea melted her insides. It was a shared sentiment but she couldn't let them give up. They could do this but it had to be together.

Searching his eyes, she stroked his cheek. "Rick, if we sit back and do nothing, we lose anyway."

Her compassion reached his soul. The wall of decorum he'd strained to maintain finally came tumbling down. His eyes dropped down to her lips. He couldn't stop himself.

He roughly pulled her into his arms and kissed her, whimpering with need.

She held him tight. They were heading down a road she had no interest in avoiding any longer. Before she completely lost herself, she pulled away. She wanted him. More than anything but she needed an answer before she surrendered to him.

"Rick," she breathed, resting her head against his, awaiting his response.

He nodded, too drunk with need to focus on anything but her lips. "Okay," he panted, willing to agree with anything just to feel her once again. "Okay."

With a passionate sigh, they finally allowed themselves to be swept away.

* * *

 _ **Oh boooyyy!**_

 _ **The intensity of this chapter had me sweating in my boots! That confrontation between the three left me wondering what could have happened if Rick and Guillermo would've joined forces on the show. That would've been something to watch.**_

 _ **After all this buildup,**_ _ **I think y'all know what's coming next. Oh. yeeeeaaaah. The much-anticipated smut chapter is on the horizon!**_

 _ **I'm working on it and it's almost done. It's...well, it's definitely worthy of an M rating. :P I hope to have it out in time for October, my birthday month. It'll be a nice way to ring in the big three-oh and the new season of TWD (yes, I'm watching to the bitter end).**_

 ** _I'm super excited to hear your thoughts! I loved all your reviews on the last chapter. It motivated me to get this chapter out faster. Your love inspires me!_**

 ** _Thank you so much! Special thanks to my beta as always! Lots of love!_**

 ** _Your scheming writer,_**

 ** _semul_**


	12. They Planted Their Crop Before

_**They Planted Their Crop Before They Built Their Fence (the title got cut off so here's the rest)**_

* * *

Rick's back slammed into the wall as Michonne clung to his shirt. The emotions of the past weeks erupted in a cathartic release.

Gripping both sides of her face, he tilted her head and devoured her full lips with precision and purpose. He took his time savoring her, teasing her lips and tongue with skillful strokes of his own.

He kissed her as if she was a delicacy he'd deprived himself of his entire life. She plunged her eager fingers into his curls, gripping them securely. Her tugging caresses sent tingles up his scalp and blood down to his groin.

He moaned, lowering one hand to her thigh. He needed her closer. He pulled her dress up, running his palm up her bare hip. He gripped and tugged her against his body.

She gasped against his lips, clutching his shirt for balance. She felt his arousal through their heated clothes. She couldn't think as he devoured her again. Her world slipped away, disappearing into the foggy background of her desire. Nothing could stop them now.

 _R-r-rip!_

It was unintentional. He'd provoked a surge of passion that turned into a firm tug.

How was she to know that his crisp shirt was flimsily made?

When the small plastic buttons fell to the ground, the world came to a standstill. They stared as one rolled away, landing on its side. He looked up, dark lust obscuring the blue of his irises. Her eyelids fluttered at the intensity, anticipation zinging up her back.

His eyes darted between hers as he released her grip on him. He circled her like a predator cornering his next meal. Her breath grew shallow. She followed him with a side glance as he positioned himself behind her. The thrill of not knowing what he was going to do next was almost too much.

He ran his hands down her arms. Her body shivered. His masculine scent filled her senses. With his breath warming the shell of her ear, he unzipped her tight dress. Goosebumps covered her anxious flesh. Freeing her arms from the straps, he slid it down her generous hips to a pool around her heels. She nearly slid to the floor with it but somehow managed to remain upright, preparing herself for whatever was next.

He sucked back a small smile as he admired her half-naked form from behind. She was shivering, not from a chill but from anticipation. His own anticipation had him licking his lips.

Tonight, they'd step into a world without inhibitions. He'd learn every inch of her. Tonight, she was his.

Sweeping her dreadlocks to the side, he laid sensual kisses across her shoulders, tasting the parts of her that drove him dizzy with desire. His lips traced down the gentle curve of her back. Her scent of warm cocoa butter and soft perfume swirled into his hazy mind as he knelt down.

Gripping her hips for balance, he inclined his mouth to tug at her black lacy panties. When she gave no sound of protest, he released the stretchy material, snapping it against her skin. She gasped as he continued with a smirk, dragging his lips down the generous slope of her ass. He hoped what he did next would draw the same breathy gasps.

Her head felt light. She rested her palms against the wall, steadying herself on her heels. His hot tongue and lips meandered against her skin, making her wonder how much more she could take before she jumped his bones.

He growled. He rose up and sunk his teeth into at her waistband, tugging the lace material down.

More than ready to rid herself of the soaked item, she widened her legs. He released the material from his teeth and dragged it down with his thumbs.

"Take 'em off," he commanded.

Aroused by his aggressive tone, she let him pull off the pile of clothes around her ankles, along with her heels. He grabbed the pile and flung it away. The faint clatter of her stilettos across the tile floor barely registered as she struggled to remain upright. She couldn't focus on anything else but his hands sliding up her naked, smooth legs.

He was in a trance, utterly mesmerized by the beauty in his hands. She was more flawless than he could've ever imagined. She had him salivating. But before they could go any further, she had to face her consequences.

He caressed her cleft with his thumb. "That was my favorite shirt."

She shivered, her hands clawing the wall, preparing for what she was hoping he'd do. He smoothed his hand over one cheek, then… _slap_!

The pleasure of it took her breath away. The wetness between her legs intensified. She didn't recognize the choked sigh that escaped her mouth. She lost her mind to the lust coursing through her veins.

He rubbed away the faint sting, laying kisses against her tender cheek. She laid her forehead against the wall and moaned, enjoying the rush of sensations. The second time he smacked her was less of a surprise and more of a welcome sting. She groaned, clawing at the wall, startled by how good it felt.

Appreciating the quivering sight, he murmured against her, "Next time, I won't be so nice."

She nearly died at the thought.

Rising from his crouch, his nose slid up her back until it bumped against her bra band. He gave the band a slight tug with his teeth before standing up. He kissed the back of her neck, unhooking her strapless bra and throwing it to the side.

Her aching nipples, hardened by the cool air, sought his attentions. He buried his nose in her hair as his hands slid up her taut stomach. His thumbs grazed the underside of her breasts before sliding up to draw lazy circles around her nipples. A moan escaped her throat. He tweaked them, turning her knees into jelly.

He turned her around. The dangerous look in his eyes with his torn shirt hanging open had her trembling in need.

He laid his hand against her chest, sliding it up to her clavicle. He traced the delicate bone, pushing her against the wall. Drawing close, his lips hovered near hers. His hand continued gliding up her neck, stopping to rub his thumb against her bottom lip. She instinctively opened her mouth and pulled his digit between her teeth. She moaned at the saltiness of his skin.

His lips parted at her boldness. She sucked and gently bit his thumb. Before he exploded in his pants, he pulled it out of her mouth and dragged the slick digit against her bottom lip. He gripped her chin and pulled away, silently demanding her gaze.

"Slow."

Not taking her eyes off of him, she unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. His eyes flitted over her face, taking in every detail. She reached for his waistband and roughly pulled him closer. He rested his hand against the wall to steady himself. She could see his eyelids get heavy as she unclasped his pants. She unzipped them and untucked his shirt. Then she stopped.

He looked delicious, completely disheveled and yearning for her. She wanted him but she wanted him in her bed. If they went any further, they'd never make it past the foyer.

She pulled away and began walking to the stairs. Smiling at him, she lured him in like a naked siren leading a sailor to his demise. He returned her smile, chasing his giggling temptress up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Everything became a blur.

A flurry of his clothes and shoes were strewn about her floor, the sound of frenzied kisses filled the room. She yelped when he picked her up, her thighs straddling his naked waist. Before she had a chance to appreciate the strength of his arms, he tossed her down on the bed. She bounced on the mattress with a squeal. He dragged her legs to the edge before she could catch her breath.

Laying kisses along the inside of her thighs, he kneeled before her. A noise caught in her throat when she realized what he was doing. He looked up at her before pushing her legs up and spreading her thighs further. She gripped the sheets, watching him in fascination. She'd never been with a man so decided on pleasing her. With his eyes locked on her, he gently kissed her trimmed curls, kissing lower until she shuddered.

His thumb dipped between her wet folds. He gently massaged her until he finally inclined his head and dragged his tongue along her sensitive opening. He moaned as if he'd tasted the most exquisite treat. Her head fell back on the mattress, pleasure searing up her body.

Watching her fall apart nearly finished him. His dick was harder than ever, pre-cum beading at his tip. He ran his hand up and down his length, relieving some pressure before forcing his hand away. He couldn't focus on himself, not when he had a goddess in his arms.

Turning his attention back to her, he took his time familiarizing himself with her sweet flower. He traced the intricate design with his hot tongue, pausing to dip into her and appreciate her glorious taste. He spread her wet desire across her folds until she was glistening.

Once she was on the brink of screaming from anticipation, he dove in.

He locked his muscular arms around her thighs and buried his face, releasing loud moans of pleasure. She immediately gripped his hair, a shaky sigh escaping her lungs.

He dug to caress her wet, pink flower, memorizing her with every sensual stroke. He bestowed her with long strokes and swirls, licking her up, down, and in circles, eating her out like a starved man. His tongue leisurely orbited her pearl and he pulled it into his mouth, sensually sucking and caressing it. Her moans were the feedback he needed to give her exactly what she wanted.

Her back arched, her thighs closing around his head. It felt like her soul was being sucked from her body.

"Fuck. Shit," she wailed.

Her fingers dug into his damp curls, urging him on. He adapted to her position, possessively pulling her hips closer to his eager mouth.

A tremor vibrated through her thighs. The heat and sensations built up. He massaged deeper, lapping at a delicious pace, moaning with every taste. Her muscles stiffened. Then he took a long, sensual drink of her.

She came with a choked gasp.

Her legs trembled with every spark that flew from her core. Any other time she would have felt self-conscious but not a single coherent thought passed through her mind as she allowed herself to be carried away.

Her thighs struggled to close shut but he held them in place, his mouth still latched on to her clit, urging more pulsations forth. A breathless shout passed her lips, losing herself in the release of her throbbing core. He lapped at her as she dripped into his eager mouth, immersed in relishing her taste.

The tingling aftereffects reached her damp scalp, flowing down her arms. Breathless, her hips sunk themselves deeper into the mattress, desperate to escape his hungry, glistening lips. But he wasn't done judging by the possessive moans vibrating between her legs.

She gripped his hair, hoping to give him a hint. She was sensitive yet he continued to be lost in his bliss, thirstily drinking every drop of her.

"Rick," she weakly pleaded.

He reluctantly pulled away with a groan. He sloppily kissed the inside of her thigh up to her knee. He did the same with the other, starting at her knee and journeying back to his new favorite place. She caught his face just in time and pulled him up. He picked up on her unspoken request and kissed up her lower abdomen.

He continued his slow journey upward. He tasted her soft skin, appreciating every inch. His lips and nose dragged along the center of her body until he was buried between her breasts. He kissed his way up to her dark, enticing nipples. He rolled his tongue around one before sucking it into his mouth with a moan.

A violent tug of pleasure shot down to her core, pulling a loud sigh from her lips. He sucked and licked until he let it go with a pop. The cool air on her wet nipple hardened it into a stiff bud. He repeated the act a few times before kissing his way to the other, paying it just as much attention. She squirmed with impatience.

She scratched at his firm shoulders, the pleasure he was giving her drawing sighs from her lips. With her body humming and dripping in anticipation, she was ready for him.

Looking wild with his hair disheveled and sweaty skin tinted red, he softly kissed up her neck, pausing to whisper in her ear, "You sure?"

His hardened length prodded at the inside of her thighs, his sticky precum dragging a trail against her skin. She drew a blank on why she could ever say no. She needed him inside her.

She dug her nails into his solid biceps and nodded eagerly, her vocabulary reduced to the basic essentials. "Yeah. Yes. Fuck yes."

He devoured her lips one more time before he adjusted his position. He sat up on his knees and lifted her legs, resting them in the crook of his arms. Planting his fists in the mattress, his muscular arms flexed as he lowered himself. He needed her to keep him in deep while he fucked her senseless.

He kissed her addictive lips before resting his forehead against hers, strands of his sweaty hair falling near his eyes. He stared at her as he slid into her warmth inch by dizzying inch. She let out the sexiest cry he'd ever heard. He greedily swallowed it with his swollen lips, burying himself inside her.

He stretched her, thick and hot. It had been a while but he'd warmed her up enough; all she could feel was pleasure. She continued kissing him, gripping the back of his neck with one hand, tugging at his wet curls. The other gripped the sheets, tethering her to reality. Her insides promptly trembled when he began to stroke in and out of her, a delicious friction pushing her toward the edge again.

He reluctantly pulled away from her lips, gazing at her in concentration. She massaged him, tightly hugging his dick. He lost all coherent thought, his movements running on primal need. He needed to fuck her and he needed to fuck her good. He vigorously rocked against her until he found the angle that had her legs trembling.

She couldn't believe how fast he was unlocking the secrets of her body. It was like every move he made was designed to drive her to the brink of insanity. Forceful, breathy pants escaped her parted lips. She knew she sounded like a sex-crazed lunatic but she didn't care. This man was stroking the shit out of her. She had no time for pretty moans and restraint.

The noises she made filled him with pride, stoking his stamina. He buried his nose in her neck, sucking at her heated skin. The sounds of their joining bodies played a hypnotizing melody as the sensations danced in their veins.

He opened his eyes, the urge to see her too strong to resist. He poised his lips close to her cheek, drinking in her every expression of pleasure with his dilated eyes.

Her perfect lips parted in ecstasy. Between her careens of pleasure and nonsensical praises, she groaned, "Yes, Rick, right there. Right there."

Her smooth voice sent tingles throughout his body, his name egging him on. He'd wanted this for so long. To give her pleasure ignited a passion he didn't know existed. She was everything he could have hoped for, everything he never expected. She was a gift he had the pleasure of unwrapping and losing himself in.

He didn't realize he was already sending her over the edge once again. Her brow knit as her body suddenly tensed. Her breath left her lungs as she clawed at his back. She pulled him against her and arched off the bed. He rotated his pelvis just right and set off an explosion.

A fiery sensation spread from her core out to every inch of her body. A wail left her lips as she clung to him. He slowed and rested all his delicious weight on top of her. His pelvis intuitively rocked, drawing out an intense edge to her climax. She could feel him buried in her soul as she pulsated around him.

She burst in every direction. The intensity of it bordered on terrifying. She felt a warm creaminess spill from her. It coated him when he rocked against her. She held him tight until she rode out the last roaring wave of her orgasm.

It shook her to her very soul. She clutched at him, afraid she'd float away from its intensity.

Once it subsided, an extraordinary feeling of calm spread throughout her. It was as if she'd finally achieved some sort of nirvana. Short of breath, her eyes widened in astonishment.

He raised himself up and smiled down at her. She languidly reciprocated his smile, her body deliciously limp.

"You good?" He brushed a stray lock from her face, their bodies glistening with sweat.

She could feel a softness fill her eyes. She'd never felt so good in her life. It was mystifying. But it was him who gazed at her in wonder.

She nodded, trying to form coherent words. "Yeah, I'm good."

He smiled wider, leaning down to slowly capture her lips. He took his time worshipping them as if they each deserved a few moments of focused attention. It took her breath away.

He finally pulled away with a few smaller kisses before adding, "Good." He shallowly thrust into her gushy core as if he needed to remind her that he was still as hard as iron. "We ain't done yet."

An intense fluttering filled her as he kissed down her neck, laying kisses along her clavicle, gently pulling out of her. Her weak legs lowered to the mattress. She knew they'd made a mess out of her comforter but she couldn't care less. Not when the man who'd provoked the mess was sucking on her skin as if she were the most delicious lollipop.

She closed her eyes and laid still as he tasted her. Goosebumps sprang up all over her body as he made his way down the slopes of her breasts and across her firm abdomen. She basked in his appreciative caresses until the warmth of his tongue and lips faded away. Her eyes shot open, searching for him.

He gave her a sly smile as he laid on his back, getting comfortable. "Come 'ere."

Something possessive overcame her. His muscular body shined with sweat. His damp curls laid limp against his head. His erect cock gleamed with her cum. She'd never seen someone so delicious in her life.

He was hers, only hers. She crawled on top of him, straddling his abdomen. From this point on, she would never be okay with the thought of not having him.

He maneuvered the ruined bedspread from under them and off the bed, the cool sheets refreshing their need.

His hands slowly slid up her thighs, pausing to caress her ass. She pushed her ass into his hands, wanting him to grope every inch but he had other ideas.

He sat up with one hand gripping her ass, the other sliding up her slick back. He buried his face in her chest, kissing, running his tongue over her hot skin. Her salty taste was addicting.

When the length of his cock slid against her, she reached behind her for his wrists and pinned him back down on the bed. She saw the hungry look in his eyes and leaned down as if to kiss him.

Instead, she satisfied a need that had been building up these past weeks. His strong, well-defined, tempting jawline. She laid kisses along the prickly feature, tracing it with her tongue. Burying herself in his neck, she trailed kisses along his throat. She moaned in satisfaction.

She could feel him start to pull away from her hold. She firmly pinned his wrists against his pillow above his head, snapping him from his trance.

Fire burned in his eyes, his chest rapidly rising and falling with each shallow breath. She carefully slid down, his length rubbing against her dripping center.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she breathlessly whispered, "Oh god."

He groaned loudly, his pelvis arching up. He needed to be inside her. But she released his wrists only to continue torturously gliding down him.

Helpless, he moaned, the sensation making him feel lightheaded. "Ah, f-fuck. Shit."

She kissed across the planes of his chest. His torso tightened as she paused to swirl her tongue around his nipple, lightly scraping her teeth against it. He gasped.

She scratched her way down, laying kisses down his firm abdomen. She paused beneath his belly button. Flipping her hair out of the way she locked eyes with him as she followed his trail of hair with kisses. She continued sliding further and further until he knew what she wanted.

Any other time, he would have let her continue but he couldn't take much more. The tight coiling down below warned him he had a limited time before the pleasure inside him exploded with an impressive force.

"Not yet," he gruffly whispered as he gripped her wrists, pulling her back up and attacking her lips.

He firmly gripped her hip and a handful of her hair. He pulled her away, focusing his dark gaze on her, lining her up where he wanted her. His unhinged, wild look had her forearms shaking around his head as she held herself up. She looked down at his parted lips.

"Look at me," he demanded, pulling her close.

With his breath on her lips, she drew her eyes up to his. Analyzing every micro reaction, he roughly impaled her on his cock. Her shocked gasp turned into a cry as he buried himself to the hilt. She squeezed her eyes shut, her back tightening with pleasure. His eyes nearly eclipsed black with arousal.

Her arms gave out and she draped her shaking body over his. Once she stopped sobbing in bliss, he grabbed a handful of her ass and bounced her up and down his aching cock.

His aggressiveness revealed a side to her she didn't know she possessed. She became submissive, willing to give him anything he wanted. Hell, he could ask her for the moon and she'd jump out of bed right now and sign up for the next moon launch.

He was driving her insane. Foolish. Senseless. She couldn't get enough. She weakly pulled her head up from his shoulder and rested her forehead against his. He maneuvered her body, taking as much pleasure from her as possible.

Unsatisfied by the pacing, he snapped his hips up against her. Her ass slapped against the tops of his thighs driving them both wild.

She arched and spread her legs further, needing him to hit her in that spot again, hoping to unwind the tension that was building up once again.

Everything was on fire, the heat and humidity in the room rivaled the furnace outside. Their bodies were slick with sweat, the tangled sheets were damp from their lovemaking. Their pleasure-filled grunts and groans rivaled the noise of the bed as it jolted with Rick's powerful thrusts.

Feeling a familiar clench spreading up his lower extremities, he flipped them over. He spread her legs wide, gripping her thighs for leverage. He pulled her hips up and thrust into her, deep and deliberate. He watched her naked body writhing in pleasure, hypnotized by the movement. Loud moans echoed throughout the bedroom as he quickened the pace.

She arched her back and knit her brow, muted gasps residing in her throat. He felt her tighten around him again, choking him in her velvet grip. It felt like her body was trying to pull him further inside her, sucking him into mindless pleasure. A fleeting thought of remembering to pull out buzzed in the back of his mind.

Then she pulled him down on top of her and locked her legs around him, angling him where she needed him. The thought disappeared as his painfully sensitive tip vibrated. He desperately drilled into her as deep as he could, lifting her ass off the mattress with each shallow thrust.

She moaned his name, "Rick!"

Finally, the pressure exploded, knocking his mind into a plain of sheer pleasure.

All sounds drowned out. His spine tingled, his toes curled, and his knees weakened as he came. A thick surge of cum jetted into her, unquestionably finding its mark. His forearms shook to keep him from crushing her. Though after another surge, he couldn't hold on any longer.

He fell on top of her, clinging to the sheets, his body weight burrowing her into the mattress. His ass tightened as his hips instinctually pressed forward, trapping her beneath him. He could only let out choked gasps as his slight thrusts urged more spurts to erupt from his sensitive tip. Her palpitations coaxed out every drop of him.

Enjoying the weight of him, she held him tight, feeling his whole body shake between her thighs. His heat scorched her inside and out. She bit his shoulder to keep from screaming out.

He trembled as he slowly, very slowly, wound down. Searing relief possessed his body. When he finally felt empty, he inhaled and loudly groaned at the mind-numbing pleasure.

Out of breath and sweaty, he buried his face in the sheets next to her head. Weakly laying on top of her, his pelvis twitched in time with the aftershocks. He was a mess. He could barely catch his breath.

After a few moments, he tried to pull out his sensitive length. She whimpered. He froze. She molded herself around him.

He laid a few feathery kisses against her skin, nudging at her with his nose. It took a while but her body finally relaxed and her grip on him eased. When she was ready, she caressed his calves with her feet, a satisfied yet tired moan settling in her throat. He gently rocked his hips against her, his movements sending delayed tingling throughout their bodies. Satisfied sighs escaped their tired mouths. He slipped out with a breathless gasp.

He turned over and laid on his back, wondering how he would ever come back from this.

Sex had always been good. He enjoyed sex. But this, this was something else entirely. He'd never lost himself like this. He'd never felt so complete and euphoric as he did at this moment.

It felt like he was reborn solely to love the woman next to him. He was a part of her and she was a part of him. He could no longer foresee a future without her by his side. It was earth-shattering and yet he quickly came to terms with it, judging by his cock already twitching at the prospect of another go. He turned his head to blink at his new world.

She laid still, sweaty, unable to move her limbs. She felt weightless. Tiny aftershock tugs of pleasure crawled up and down the inside of her sore thighs. Her mind was clear of any thought. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath. The pleasure coursing through her body and hazy mind eased her into one simple thought: _I love him. I'm in love with Rick Grimes._

 _Fuck._

It scared her at how prepared she was at accepting it as fact. It couldn't be argued. It couldn't be changed and any attempt to alter it seemed insane.

She loved him.

She barely registered Rick's lips against her arm, his beard sending prickles up her arm and chest.

He quietly enquired, "You okay?"

She lazily blinked, a dazed smile spread across her lips. Sweaty, satiated, and with evidence of their lovemaking dripping out of her, she felt amazing. Like a sex goddess. Though the words were too hard to form.

She made a great effort to reply. "I'm good."

He raised his eyebrow. "Just good?" His fingertips slowly slid down her stomach.

She gripped his traveling hand and had enough strength to side eye him. "Give me a few minutes."

He hummed with a smile as he caressed her stomach with his thumb, his lips still attached to her arm.

They lay quietly, lost in their thoughts of one another, until he planted one last kiss and whispered, "I'll be back."

She grunted in response. He disappeared into his bathroom. A few moments later, he returned with a damp washcloth and tenderly cleaned her up. If she wasn't in love with him already that single move would've convinced her.

When he finished and returned the washcloth, he laid next to her, kissing her shoulder and neck.

"You hungry?" He murmured in her ear, kissing the delicate skin. "We didn't have dessert."

She weakly laughed. "This doesn't count as dessert?"

He playfully bit her shoulder, pulling her back against his body. She giggled until he had her snuggled up against his chest.

She sighed, wriggling in contentment. "I could eat."

She turned her face to capture his engorged lips. They savored each kiss with a newfound appreciation.

He reluctantly pulled away with a few more kisses. "I better put something on before I go down."

Oblivious, she stretched her sore body and yawned, "Why?"

"Cameras."

Her eyes shot open. "Shit."

She'd been downstairs prancing around butt naked, putting on a show for the whole world to see. She covered her heated face with her arm. "Oh my god."

Rick snickered, kissing the exposed underside of her arm. "Don't worry. Maggie's as discreet as they come."

His reasoning didn't do much to relieve her embarrassment. She'd never been recorded in such a compromising state. She groaned in mortification.

He removed her arm from her face and planted gentle kisses down her jaw and neck. He murmured reassurances until she finally relaxed back into a melted puddle.

"It'll be fine. Just lay here and rest, I'll be back."

She watched him from drooping eyelids as he found his boxers and put them on with a tantalizing shimmy of his hips. Though she'd just seen him in his full glory, glimpsing his faint Adonis belt and the path of fair hair leading to his glorious crotch made her want to straddle him again. She chastised herself, she couldn't even lift her leg at the moment if she wanted to.

She turned over on her stomach, closed her eyes, and drifted off into a light yet satisfied slumber.

* * *

Humming to himself, Rick sauntered into the kitchen. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he raided the fridge and cupboards.

He was the world's luckiest son of a bitch. He'd just made love to the most beautiful woman in Texas. Hell, the entire world.

He bit his lip with a wide grin as he sliced up an apple. His stomach flip-flopped in eagerness. He was ready to spend the rest of the weekend learning every inch of her body. She'd given him a bite and now he was hungry for the whole meal. Ironically, his stomach growled in agreement.

A faint beep pulled his attention away. It sounded like it was coming from the drawer he'd stuffed their passports in. Wiping his hands on the kitchen towel, he warily approached it. Opening the drawer, he realized it was the walkie. Sighing, he picked it up and spoke the code. It was Maggie.

"I suppose congratulations are in order."

He smiled. "She's worried you got us on camera."

"You did put on a show." He could sense a smile in her tone. "Don't worry, temporary camera malfunction."

Her abrupt silence was telling.

"What is it?"

"The director wants to see you," she clarified, "our director."

It was never a good thing when the CIA director wanted to see someone. Morgan Jones was not a man who prided himself in giving good news.

Irritated by his timing, he grunted, "When?"

"Sunday morning. Oh seven hundred. The coffee shop."

At least it wasn't tomorrow morning. It gave him a chance to fully appreciate the new step in his relationship.

"I'll be there."

"I'll be keeping an eye. You two be safe."

"Thanks, Maggie."

"No problem, old man. Over and out."

He took a minute to rub at his brow. He sensed whatever the director needed to tell him, would put a damper on the joy flowing through him.

But that was tomorrow. They still had today.

Allowing the elation to flow through him once again, he threw the walkie into the drawer. Picking up the prepared plate of snacks, he scampered up the steps, two at a time. Happiness awaited him.

Tiptoeing into the room, he beamed at the vison before him. His beautiful temptress was splayed facedown across her white sheets. Soft puffs of breath escaped her exquisite lips. Her once styled dreads, lay limp against her back. Her perfect ass tempted him with handfuls of delight.

He sighed. She was divine. He'd lay the stars at her feet if she asked him to. He was entirely hers.

He bit his lip and placed the plate of food on top of her drawer. Slipping out of his boxers, careful to avoid his growing erection, he slid into bed.

She awoke with a sharp inhale. Hot breath caressed her shoulder blades as he slowly lowered his body on top of hers. He laid open mouth kisses against her shoulders, his tongue savoring her salty skin.

She groaned breathlessly, "Rick."

He rumbled, "You got your few minutes."

Her half-hearted protests turned into sighs of pleasure.

* * *

 _ **How about that for an update? *wink* *wink* *eyebrow waggle* lol**_

 _ **I chipped away at this chapter for months and I still don't know if it was an awkward mess. I wasn't sure about releasing it but yesterday was my 30th birthday and my amazing friend just accomplished something super exciting today so I'm riding on a high. I hope the smut wasn't too over the top!**_

 _ **Now that the slow burn between these two is making way for a real relationship, we're slowly coming up to the end. Five more chapters and possibly an epilogue left, at least if everything goes to plan. It'll be a jam-packed last few chapters. I'm looking forward to seeing where this story takes us!**_

 _ **What did you think of the TWD Season 9 premiere? I LOVED the Richonne fluffiness. I've been soaking in that goodness all week. I mean, it is little late coming but still so good.**_

 _ **As always, I cannot wait to hear from you! I LIVE when I read your comments. But seriously though. After this update, should I have my Richonner card revoked? Smut has never been a strength of mine so your feedback is much appreciated.**_

 _ **Thank you to my lovely beta and thank you to those of you who've stuck with this story and are new to this story. I love you all very much!**_

 _ **Your anxiously awaiting to hear from you writer,**_

 _ **semul**_


	13. Don't Squat With Your Spurs On

Gilded rays crept around the dim buildings of downtown El Paso, shimmering against the thick window panes of the coffee shop. Harsh frothing echoed in the air as the Sunday morning trickle of customers filed in. Sitting alone at the far end of the coffee bar, Rick sipped his steaming cup, the rich aroma of his dark roast swirling into his fixated thoughts.

 _Michonne._ Her name played in his head like his favorite vinyl, dizzying him with her matchless melody. Her precious composition of laughter, sighs, and cries of ecstasy flowed through his veins and to his heart, now eager to burst from its confining cavity. Unacquainted with the impatience and unreserved reverence clashing inside him, he let it fill his senses, drowning out all reason. He took a small sip from his steaming Styrofoam cup, losing himself in his vivid memories.

Yesterday – after their first round of mind blowing love-making – they slowed things down and made love a second time, gently kissing and tasting their way to bliss. Once the adrenaline eased, he apologized for his impulsiveness. Still glowing from their activities, they snacked on apple slices and discussed using protection, or rather, the lack thereof. He assured her he was clean but stopped by the pharmacy earlier that morning to stock up on condoms anyway. There was no reason the both of them couldn't be careful.

A smile lit up his face as he remembered how they'd spent most of the day lounging in bed, swapping childhood stories and musing over future pursuits. He found out about her dream of owning her own online magazine and she found out about his dream of being an interior decorator. She giggled over that one until he quickly discovered all her ticklish spots. After they called a truce, they somehow ended up singing an off-key version of My Cherie Amour and he knew in that moment he was done for. Her mind, her body, her taste, everything that made her Michonne Anthony was imprinted onto his very soul. She was absolute perfection and he was addicted.

This morning, she hadn't done him any favors in weaning him from his addiction. She sent him off whimpering in bliss after she thanked him for giving her a burner phone to call her friend. It was the kind of thank you that still had him daydreaming about her lips and tongue.

He checked his watch again. His knee bounced impatiently, wondering if using a siren to drive home would get him in trouble.

A teasing voice interrupted his thoughts. "The coffee that good?"

His smile faded, his back already stiffening in defensiveness. Morgan Jones strolled up next to him, dressed in civilian clothes and with an unnatural smile on his face. Despite the fact that his normality managed to avoid drawing attention, it immediately put Rick on edge.

Among the agents, Morgan was known as 'the Stick'. Not only did he have a hypothetical one up his ass but he used one to deliver blows of unforgiving truth. It was his specialty. He was cruel and calculating but always got the job done. Rick admired that about him, until he found himself in his path. It rarely happened but today, it would be unavoidable.

He ran his thumb against the lid of his coffee cup, trying to avoid it for a little longer. "It's alright," he drawled, avoiding his gaze.

The elder man raised his eyebrows in understanding. "Alright? Looks like it's better than alright by that smile."

He shrugged as Morgan ordered a coffee for himself. The less he talked, the less he knew. It was wishful thinking but he hoped to protect his current predicament with silence. He took a sip of the scalding liquid, preparing himself for what came after the small talk.

Picking up on his evasion, Morgan smiled in amusement. "Maggie's been keeping me informed of your situation."

His declaration killed off the last remnants of hope, causing Rick to take a scalding gulp of coffee. Holding back a yelp, he grimaced and sucked in a stream of air, attempting to sooth his burnt tongue and throat. He knew it would be too good to be true for him to not know about the hole he'd dug himself in. He wondered how much Maggie had revealed. It was her job to keep his bosses informed but he hoped she'd mercifully left out a few details.

"Sounds like you ran into some complications."

Complication was a generous word to describe the fuck up they made yesterday. They compromised themselves and their safety. He took full responsibility. He trusted someone he shouldn't have and he still didn't know who had been the one to tip off Blake but he'd find out. Eventually.

He sniffed, evading the details of last night's brief nightmare. "Yeah, but we made it out."

His curt tone brought a smile to Morgan's face. "Hmm, you two did, didn't you?" His question hung in the air as he accepted his cup of coffee from the barista with a polite smile.

Rick fidgeted uneasily as a heavy silence settled between them. Involving civilians in missions compromised the cover. It exposed the CIA to ridicule and made it vulnerable to threats. He knew that, yet he still went through with it. He braced himself for the reprimand he'd been expecting for weeks.

Morgan gravely stirred his coffee. "You've lost your focus. Your mind isn't clear."

"It's clear," Rick tightly countered.

"You need to end this."

Ending it wasn't an option. He had to see this through, not only for his sake but for Michonne's as well. Their future depended on it.

He shook his head. "We sent you here to establish the efficiency of the CBP, find out who the big players were and make nice with them. You, Rick, you went above and beyond the call of duty."

"I did my job."

"I don't remember her being part of the job."

It was as if Morgan had flicked a switch. A blind rage fogged over Rick's eyes. He tilted his head, the veins tightening in his neck. It took everything to control his urge to knock the living shit out of him.

"Now, I know that look," he smiled, holding up his finger at him. "I know that look and it ain't a look I'm fond of."

Irritated, Rick averted his seething gaze. There were moments he admired the man, and there were moments when he couldn't stand to be around him. Now was one of those moments. He was purposely being obtuse. He was dragging things out, making sure he felt the full weight of his fuck up.

Morgan's jesting came to an end when he noticed his threatening silence, quickly admitting, "Michonne's a good reporter. One of the best but this is bigger than you or her."

He squinted in confusion.

"All you had to do was give us the information we needed. There was no target, no need to go international but you followed a path not meant for you. Or her."

Morgan seemed almost regretful, as if he had done something he wouldn't normally do. He never showed remorse. His gut twisted in dread, anticipating the worst.

"By the time I knew what was happening, you already had a potential federal investigation lined up," he continued, "I had to do what I could to stop you. You got too close. Both of you."

A federal investigation? What the hell was he talking about? What did he mean too close? His first instinct was Michonne's safety. If it had been compromised in any way, he would kill him. He didn't care that there'd be a coffee shop full of witnesses, he would rip his neck out. His jaw clenched in preparation.

Morgan gazed at him thoughtfully, dragging out the suspense. "All those failed operations. It was natural for you to start suspecting a leak but did you really think it came from Blake's people?"

It took a second to register. His brow knit in confusion. _The leak? If it wasn't one of Blake's people then..._ Rick's stomach dropped. It wasn't Blake. It was never Blake. _Shit._ How the hell had he missed it?

He squeezed his eyes shut. "It was you."

He took a sip of his coffee. "Like I said, you were exposing things that didn't need exposing."

All his work, all his leads, foiled by his own people. Betrayed by those who were supposed to be on his side, protecting him, keeping him safe. He trusted them and they shoved a knife in his back. After nearly giving his life, this was how they repaid him. He knew the CIA was a disloyal agency but to have it turn on him like this was unbelievable.

With a heavy weight in his stomach, he quietly asked, "Who?"

Morgan had the decency to appear hesitant. He knew the moment he revealed the name, Rick would do everything in his power to destroy them. And if he chose to withhold the name, he would turn the agency inside out until he found them, blowing his and their cover in the process.

Giving up any pretenses of maintaining confidentiality, he sighed, revealing the entire truth.

"Rovia. We sent him in there after you got the job. He was following up on a different lead but when you started setting up missions and making connections between CBP and the cartels, we gave him orders to play the naïve informant. He was ordered to go through all the proper channels to get permission for all your cartel interceptions. Luckily, we killed two birds with one stone. Not only did it prevent you from digging deeper but it helped us figure out who the Governor was."

Jesus. The little fucker had been playing him the entire time. Here he thought he was just some amateur idiot who would never cut it as an officer. Instead, he was a full-fledged agent sent to babysit him.

He snarled, "Son of a bitch."

Morgan eyed him steadily. "No, Rick. He did his job. You were the one that had a mission and you failed. You nearly brought down the entirety of the CBP with your impulsive operations and almost threw two countries into chaos. Then you involved a civilian and followed a thread that led you to the goddamn lion's den. And now you're both on their radar. Do you understand what that means?"

He'd never seen Morgan look so grim. His anger dissipated, quickly replaced with worry. He fucked up. Big time.

He underestimated the power and influence of these cartels. Powerful people only stood to benefit from their existence. Organized crime and corruption was often so deeply and intricately entrenched, that any attempt to rip it out would reveal the ugliness of a system and shatter the illusion of protection. If people believed that they were vulnerable to threats, they would take it upon themselves to enact their own justice and there already were enough unqualified nut job vigilantes with guns along the border.

This went beyond cutting off the head of the snake. Bringing down Blake would bring down an entire U.S. government department and bring chaos to the doorstep of their neighboring country. He'd been so focused on everything working out, on an impossible idealism that he hadn't stopped to consider all the repercussions. Morgan had good reason to worry.

"Fortunately, we salvaged your cover. Though, your mission's going to change."

His tone told him he wouldn't like the change. The last time a mission changed in the field, the agent didn't make it out alive. Preparing well for a mission took months. Changing it up last minute meant preparing for the unexpected. And with the cartel and the CBP involved, a change in the mission would be dangerous. But as long as Michonne was safe, he was more than willing to do whatever it took.

Nodding in acceptance, he asked, "What happens next?"

Morgan browsed through his schedule on his phone. "The CBP's annual fundraising gala is this Saturday. Blake will be there, so will the press." He looked up at him. "We could draw attention to him. Unwanted attention."

It wasn't unheard of to have the CIA behind drawing attention to people of interest. Creating societal villains and heroes was one of their specialties. Thinking about Blake's situation, there was only one way to turn him into a public villain.

"You want to catch him in the act," Rick presumed, doubtful of the chances of that happening. "He's not that stupid."

"Then we make him that stupid."

"How?"

"We throw everything we got on him."

Rick made a noise of disagreement, avoiding the obvious solution. "He'll bide his time. Send someone else to do the job."

"Then we don't give him that option. We make him react in the moment. Preferably with a camera on him."

Rick kept his silence. Blake was a careful man. He didn't react impulsively. Everything he'd done so far was well thought out. If they were going to make him react, he'd have to be properly motivated. To motivate a man like him meant only one thing.

"A public execution."

He took Morgan's silence as confirmation. Death was how they'd tempt him. Death was how they'd bring him down.

Avoiding the feelings of resistance building inside him, he asked the only question that mattered. "Mine or his?"

Morgan took a quiet sip of his coffee before answering, pummeling Rick's dreams of a future with five words.

"The one that ends this."

* * *

"No. You? Him?! Yes, girl! Yes!"

Michonne softly chuckled at her friend's response, curling further into the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest. Duty obligated her to inform her best friend about recent events so before Rick left, she asked if she could call Andrea. It took some convincing – an act that he'd postponed long enough and that left his bowlegs trembling out the door – but she managed to acquire a disposable phone and the go ahead.

Her friend's voice interrupted her musings. "So what's he like?"

Her face burned with embarrassment at where her daydreams had immediately turned. She was never this easily aroused. Casting aside images of Rick trembling before her with his pants down, she cleared her throat. "I already told you."

"I'm talking about in bed," Andrea scoffed, "Is he loud? Is he into kinky shit? How big is his–"

"Andrea!"

She protested, "What? I tell you everything about the guys I date. Down to the last dirty detail."

Michonne grumbled, patting her burning face. "Yes, especially when I don't ask for them."

"Oh come on, you've gotta give me something." When Michonne stayed tightlipped, she huffed. "Okay, if you won't give me the explicit version at least give me the tame version. What happened?"

Omitting the part about almost being caught in Mexico, she reluctantly retold the story leading up to the life-altering sex.

"And?"

"And," she inhaled deeply, already losing the words to describe how monumental it had been, "he was passionate, amazing, and vigorous."

She released a breathy sigh, a giant smile pulling at her cheeks. Remembering how meticulous he'd been about giving her pleasure sent a shiver up her back. She quickly added one more to the list. "And thorough."

"So he laid it down good?"

"Very good."

"Did you…?"

"Three times."

"Fuck," she whispered conspiratorially, "Did he…?"

"The first thing he did."

She groaned in delight. "Oh god yes!"

All the moments from yesterday came rushing back, causing her stomach to flip flop and toes to curl. She hugged the pillow tighter, not wanting a residual moan to spill out. "It was amazing, Dre. He's amazing. I've never felt like this before. I never…," she paused, again at a loss for words to describe the bursting joy inside her, "I never thought it could be like this."

Andrea exhaled heavily. "Well, shit. Do you need me to start packing up your things and sending it down there?"

She rolled her eyes at her friend's ability to jump the gun. "No, we still have a lot to take care of here."

She could tell Andrea was upset by the way she began to talk to her like as if she'd lost her mind. "Babe, you just hit the jackpot. He's hot as fuck. He's caring as fuck. He's successful as fuck. And he knows how to fuck. If you aren't already thinking about tying him down to your bed and never letting him out of your sight, I may need to come down there and knock some sense into you."

She had a point. She couldn't let this opportunity slip past her. Rick was a good man and there weren't many left in the world but she couldn't blind herself to her reality. She was on assignment and he was on a mission. Things weren't settled enough to think about a future.

"I know. I know what I have with him is different but I…"

"No, stop it," she firmly instructed, "Stop with the 'buts'. You deserve everything good in this world. You are an amazing, strong, talented, loving woman. Give yourself a goddamn break and take the win. If it works out, great. If not, at least you can tell your kids about the Texan cowboy you rode like a prized stallion."

She almost fell off the couch. "I would never."

"Okay, grandkids. You can be the filter-less grandma who tells them a bunch of inappropriate things just because she can."

The thought of being a grandmother amused her. White hair, wrinkles, and no filter: she'd be a kickass grandma. Which meant she'd have to be a pretty kickass mom. Her smile faded.

 _A mom._

She drew in a sharp breath of realization. It was the first time she'd seriously contemplated parenthood without cringing. When did she change her mind?

His gentleness and thoughtfulness melted the last of her resistance. It was easy to imagine Rick as a doting father. She could already picture it. A tiny pink bundle in his arms, adoration in his gaze, quiet reassurance in his voice.

 _Their_ small bundle.

"Oh," she exhaled, her heart nearly beating out of her chest. This was so much more than a simple attraction.

"Michonne? You okay?"

Still picturing the small bundle in his arms, she saw a familiar dining room in the background, peacefully quiet, until a giggling toddler with his curls and her eyes ran up to him and wrapped his tiny arms around his leg. An excited dog thumped into the picture, climbing onto his lap for attention. Stranger yet, she saw herself smiling from afar, gazing at them and sighing in contentment. She could imagine a certifiable future with him, a future she suddenly craved.

 _Fuck_. She held her hand to her chest, holding back her panic. Since when did she start craving the white picket fence life she'd spent years avoiding with Mike? Guilt slithered into the picture. It couldn't be a craving, it was euphoria. It had to be. She couldn't just change her mind for a man she barely knew. She didn't want a family. Did she?

Shame and panic pushed past the floodgates, inundating her with insecurities. She barely heard her friend impatiently call her name. "Michonne?"

"I'm here," she said distractedly. "I was just thinking. About the article."

She wasn't ready to admit to the truth dancing in front of her face. Now was not the time. Fantasies could wait.

"Sounds like the sex cleared out some cobwebs in more places than one," Andrea teased.

Michonne laughed uneasily.

Picking up on her distracted state, Andrea laid off on the teasing. "Alright, I know how distracted you get when inspiration hits so I'll be nice and leave the interrogation for later. How's that sound?"

She replied absentmindedly, "Yeah, good."

With a sigh of disappointment, Andrea badgered her one last time for details and eventually ended the call with a, "Say hi to your stallion for me!"

Resting the phone on her stomach, Michonne stared up at the living room ceiling, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her panic ebbed away as she contemplated her budding fantasy.

 _A family. Her family._ Unfamiliar contentment filled her heart. She never thought she'd ever allow herself to be swept up by domesticity yet, here she was, aching for a lifelong commitment. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to set aside the uncertainty of her future – at least for an hour or two – and entertain a happily ever after.

* * *

Sweat prickled from the roots of her scalp, as she felt the buildup inside her growing with each thrust. Michonne rolled her hips, grinding against Rick's firm pelvis. She never imagined herself having sex on a dining room chair in broad daylight but when he presented her with a box of condoms and told her the cameras were off, she couldn't resist. He'd barely managed to pull down his pants and get the condom in place when she mauled him.

She gripped his semi-unbuttoned shirt for leverage as she rode him, his unclasped belt jangling around his knees, the heels of his boots knocking against the tile floor. An air-conditioned waft of air caressed and tightened her skin with a shudder. The sensual heat between them contrasted against the coolness, elevating the experience into an almost forbidden act.

She was almost there. She stopped bouncing and leaned forward, grasping the back of the chair. Her lips hovered over his, drinking in his ragged breaths as she rolled her hips against his. She loved having this view of him. She loved watching him fall apart because of her. She squeezed her inner muscles, the firm tip of his sheathed cock rubbing inside her in the perfect spot. He groaned, tightening his grip on her thighs, his head falling back in ecstasy.

When he showed up at the door with his easy smile, she couldn't resist him. Her conversation with Andrea left her with her head in the clouds and she had no plan on descending anytime soon. The look of surprise and arousal when she pulled him into the kitchen and shoved him down on the chair had taken its place among the highlights of her life. She felt powerful seeing him fulfill her every need and his moans let her know he was enjoying every second. She loved it. She arched her back, the slight pulsing between her legs signaled her approaching release. She needed to find it soon if Rick's reddened face and neck were any indication.

"Oh shit," he moaned, "I'm gonna come." He erratically pumped his hips upward, lifting them both off the chair, finally reaching the spot she needed him.

Her release hit her like a bullet hitting a target, ripples of searing pleasure spreading throughout her like a warm shock of lava. She dug her nails into his sturdy shoulders and wailed as her world came tumbling down.

He gripped her tight, his face screwing up in a painful pleasure. He slammed into her, releasing his hot essence, until his ass hit the seat again. Burying his face against her chest, he sputtered out choked gasps.

Once their climax released them from its blinding hold, she slumped against him as he rested his head against her shoulder, catching his breath. She gently ran her fingers through his curls, cradling him close with a dreamy smile. Concerns about their future seemed so far away, so insignificant. She could stay like this forever, though probably not in this chair.

Rick's breath eased back into its normal pace and she kissed him, carefully climbing off of him. He slipped off his disheveled clothes and took care of the cleanup. She led him to the spacious couch, indifferent to their nude state, and cuddled up to his chest. Satisfied smiles painted across their faces as they laid against the cushions, relishing the peace of the moment.

Tracing her finger across the defined planes of his chest, she tilted her chin up. "So…?"

Still enraptured in bliss, he grunted with his eyes closed. "Mmm?"

"How'd your meeting go?"

Unwilling to ruin the moment, he sighed, revealing as little as possible. "Our covers are still intact." He lazily arched his eyebrows. "Which means we have work tomorrow."

Sensing there was more, she gave him an expectant look. "And?"

He slyly smiled. "And hopefully glass walls are soundproof 'cause I won't be able to keep my hands off you." His hand slid down her back to tap her ass.

Unimpressed, she swatted his chest. He laughed, gleefully wrapping his arms around her.

"Seriously. I know that's not it."

His laughter died down. The heaviness of what he had to do settled in his gut. He reached for her wrist and held her hand to his chest, turning to rest his lips against her forehead. "Yeah, you're right."

His despondent tone set her on edge. "Is it serious?"

His silence was telling.

"What is it?"

He wanted to tell her everything. It killed him he couldn't say anything, at least not until he figured out what he was going to do next. He wanted to be sure before everything went to hell.

"I'm still figuring some things out first," he assured her.

"But you'll tell me?"

"I will."

Understanding of his caution, she accepted his word and reached up to kiss his cheek, snuggling into him. Rick nuzzled his nose in her hair, grateful for her understanding. She trusted him and that meant the world to him. He loved her and though they hadn't said it out loud, he had a suspicion his feelings weren't unrequited. Feeling his heart ready to burst, he growled and playfully buried his face in her neck, biting at the slope of her neck, evoking delighted giggles.

After a few moments, she sobered up. The concerns that had dissipated minutes before, returned, interrupting her thoughts.

"Rick?"

"Mmm?"

"What happens after this?"

He mulled over her question, unsure of the answer she was looking for. He was looking forward to a night of more lovemaking but he didn't know if she was talking about their immediate future or something beyond tonight. It helped when she quickly clarified, "When you finish your mission and I write my article?"

A pang of guilt tightened in his chest. She was already contemplating a long-term future for them. He didn't even know if there'd be a next week. Though, his selfishness muted any words of honesty. He couldn't extinguish her hope. Not yet.

He hid his tight smile, kissing the top of her head. "We'll figure it out. Together."

* * *

They spent the rest of their precious weekend in each other's arms, testing out the sturdiness of various surfaces and delighting in their new relationship. By the time Monday arrived, they procrastinated the inevitable.

Steam from their early morning shower fogged up the bathroom mirrors. Michonne giggled as Rick wrapped his arms from behind her, nosing her neck and nipping at her earlobe.

"I need to get ready," she murmured, massaging sweet-smelling products into her hair.

"Mmm," he mumbled, inhaling her intoxicating scent and kissing her shoulders, "I can help."

She closed her eyes, swaying her hips against his, feeling his firm persistence against the swell of her ass. "You weren't much help an hour ago."

He sucked on her sensitive skin, leaving a path of wet marks. "Yeah? I didn't hear you complaining." He pinned her against the counter with his hips, reminding her of how ardent he'd been earlier.

She disguised her moan with a sigh, slightly turning her head. "We have work."

He salaciously tilted his head, his eyelids half-closed in arousal, untying her robe, ignoring her attempt to distract him.

She gripped his roaming hands, turning toward him with a serious expression. "We're going to be late."

He arched an eyebrow, glancing down at her opened robe and perfect body as if to question the saneness of her statement. He kissed her protests away and caressed his way down her exposed chest and stomach, kneeling down before her, his fingers gliding up her exposed thighs until he lifted her leg over his shoulder.

Her giggles quickly turned into moans.

* * *

Out of breath and running late, they exited the elevator, their smiles lighting up the office. Knowing looks were thrown their way as they floated to Rick's office. They were too distracted to notice the drawn window blinds. Before opening the door, he pulled her in and snuck in a kiss much to her chagrin.

"Rick," she scolded quietly, attempting to pry his hands from her waist. "People are looking."

He squinted, refusing to let her go and leaning closer to her ear. "That's kind of the point," he whispered, kissing the tender shell.

Her stomach fluttered, her body instinctively reacting to his kisses. She bit her lip, glancing up to see Jessie glowering from afar. The frown on her lips twisted into a smirk. Her steady stare unnerved her.

"Rick." Michonne alerted him, placing her hand against his chest.

Sensing her unease, he released her and looked behind him. Jessie waved at him with a fake smile. Withholding an eye roll, he nodded at her, reaching for Michonne's hand. That woman always put him ill at ease. He turned back and shared a private smile with his wife before opening the door with flourish. They stepped inside and the joy died on their lips.

Sitting in his seat was a smiling Phillip Blake.

"We have a lot to talk about."

* * *

 _ **I'm alllliiiiive!**_

 _ **I disappeared for a while there, huh? Well, in that time, I took a writing class, joined a real-life writing group, attended three difference teacher conferences, finished Cardinal Sins, and am starting to feel like my** **old self** **again. I've been blessed and life is good. Finally!**_

 _ **I really, really, really want to finish El Paso this year. I'm hoping to start pursuing my Master's degree in the fall so I want to wrap this up before I focus my energies elsewhere. Cross my fingers!**_

 _ **Anyway, I appreciate all the support and continuing love I've received on this fic. Even with Richonne off our screens, the Richonne fandom is alive and well. It truly is the strongest, kindest, best fandom ever!**_

 _ **I hope you enjoyed this update! I can't wait to hear your thoughts!**_

 _ **Your devoted to the end writer,**_

 _ **semul**_


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